


A Matter of Expediency

by sithsecrets



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Arguing, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Family Drama, Family Issues, Female Friendship, Injury, Loss of Parent(s), Loss of Virginity, Mild Gore, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Pregnancy, Reader-Insert, Rivalry, Strangers to Lovers, Virginity, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:54:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 51,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24273133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sithsecrets/pseuds/sithsecrets
Summary: After being married off to Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, a young princess comes to find much power in a situation where she thought she would have none.---“Why me?” you ask suddenly, bitterly. “You’re a powerful man. I’m sure the Order is riddled with women willing to hang off your arm for all eternity, and yet you and my uncle are going to force me to do it instead. Why?”Kylo lowers his eyes for a moment. “The Order’s reach is growing rapidly, and I find myself in need of an extra set of hands. Or, rather, a second face.”
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Reader
Comments: 41
Kudos: 160





	1. I

Rocking gently from side to side, you laze about in a hammock, warmed by the sun’s sweet beams. With bare feet and undone hair, you could not be more carefree, flanked by your ladies who are just as absorbed in lounging about as you are. You cherish afternoons like these, ones where you’re able to shirk formality and responsibility in favor of relaxing. It sounds terribly lazy, you know, but so much of your time as of late has been spent being hyper aware of every aspect of your behavior and appearance— it’s nice to just be yourself, even for a few hours.

You and your ladies watch the sun move towards the horizon, content to munch on fruit and trade tidbits of gossip until it grows dark outside. Sabe’s recently had a tryst with a high-ranking member of the royal guard, and the lot of you are deeply involved in the drama of it all. So involved, in fact, that it takes someone clearing their throat to make any of you tear yourselves away from Sabe’s story.

“Your Majesty,” says the guard before you, bowing deeply as you move to climb out of your hammock. Your movements are slightly lacking in grace, given how startled you were, but you think you manage to recover rather well once you’re upright.

The guard tells you that your uncle wants an audience with you at once, and when you press for details regarding why, he has none to offer you. It’s a concerning thing, your uncle asking for you like this, because he has told you that he would be busy entertaining Order officials well into the evening. As you quickly slip on your shoes and begin trekking back to the palace, you cannot help but worry that something’s gone sour between your planet and the Order, and stars, what a frightening thought that is.

Breezing into the receiving room with purpose, all trains of thought are frightened right out of you as you lay eyes on the man in your uncle’s company. He’s large, very imposing and intimidating, and the scar that splits his face does nothing to make him any more approachable. You’ve seen Kylo Ren before, of course, having received him when he and his men made landing on your planet, but it’s quite a different thing to make his acquaintance without warning. Still, though, you put on a brave face, ever the well-trained diplomat.

“Supreme Leader,” you say in greeting, curtsying deeply. “I hope you can forgive my appearance. I thought my uncle would be receiving me alone.”

Kylo Ren says nothing to this, simply keeps his penetrating gaze fixed on you. You almost wish he would reprimand you or show some sort of disdain for your impropriety— at least that wouldn’t be so unnerving.

Pressing on, you turn to speak to your uncle, but he doesn’t let you have the chance to start.

“You met her when you arrived, but I thought it would be prudent for you to see her again,” your uncle says to the Supreme Leader, and something about his tone and expression makes you feel uneasy.

The sick feeling in your stomach only worsens as Kylo Ren keeps fucking staring at you, saying nothing and doing nothing. You can tell you’re being shown off to him right now, and though you hate the very idea of being displayed like an object, you wish the Supreme Leader would just do something. You can handle being leered at or decried as ugly, it’s happened before, but this almost clinical observation is positively terrifying.

“How old is she?” he finally asks, and he’s definitely not talking to you.

“Several years past the age of majority, Supreme Leader,” your uncle answers quickly. It makes your blood boil, being spoken about like you’re not right there, but you do your best to school your expression. If Kylo Ren were anyone else, you wouldn’t indulge him in this behavior, but everyone knows that challenging a member of the Order is foolish at best. Besides, there’s something larger at play here, and you need to find out what it is.

The Supreme Leader seems satisfied by your uncle’s answer because he nods just once, slowly and deliberately. And then Kylo Ren’s walking away, turning on his heel and heading back into the halls of the palace with your uncle running after him like a lapdog.

\---

That night, as everyone drinks and makes merry at the dinner table, you know you are being watched. You can feel the Supreme Leader’s eyes on you from the other end of the table, and stars does his attention unsettle you. He’s such a quiet man, Kylo Ren, quiet in a way that’s almost unnerving. He has a keen eyes, always observing what goes on around him, and since he and his people arrived, you’ve never seen the Supreme Leader partake in drinking, or drugs, or any of the other vices that have been offered to him. Quite frankly, you’re the first woman he’s so much as glanced at, despite the advances of other women in your uncle’s court. In your heart of hearts, you know that it has something to do with that odd little interaction that occurred earlier this afternoon, and unfortunately, you think you may already know what’s going on.

Finally, after an hour of being watched, you scrape together every ounce of your courage and lock eyes with the Supreme Leader. The tension between the both of you is palpable, so you smile shyly, just to do something. Kylo Ren doesn’t smile back, not really, but you think that the little nod he gives you is his way of cordially acknowledging your gesture.

As you prepare for bed that night, you gather your ladies around you and address them rather sadly.

“You’ve all been such good friends to me,” you tell them, making a point of looking intently at every single one of their pretty, confused faces.

Your ladies as you what you mean by that, but you don’t have an answer for them, not yet. It’s only an idea, but you think that your time on your home planet will come to an end soon.

“I just want all of you to know how much I love you,” you whisper, and you will yourself not to cry in front of your dearest friends.


	2. II

You spend the duration of the next morning waiting, shrouded in a quiet dread. It’s coming, you know that it’s coming, you just don’t know when.

Your ladies invite you to spend the day in the gardens with them, but you decline the invitation, telling them that you don’t feel well. In actuality, you’re trying to preserve your hair and your dress; if your uncle is going to sell you off against your will, you figure you can at least look pretty while he does it.

Just before midday, the time finally comes.

“The King and the Supreme Leader would like a word with you, Princess.” The guard who’s been sent to retrieve you is expressionless, but the edge of his tone suggests that you have no choice in this matter— you will be seeing your uncle and Kylo Ren whether you like it or not.

Ever the obedient princess, you follow the guard to the receiving room, just as you did yesterday. This time, however, you are not confused or afraid; you’ve resigned yourself to what’s about to happen, no matter how much it upsets you.

“My darling niece!” your uncle exclaims, grinning from ear to ear when you enter the room. The term of endearment makes your stomach turn, makes you want to throw up right there on the floor— your uncle looks far too pleased with himself, far too _happy._

You kneel before the both of them, your uncle and the Supreme Leader. Kylo Ren’s eyes track your every movement as you rise from the floor, and you don’t have it in you to give him more than a glance as you go to speak.

“You’re in a good mood, Uncle,” you say evenly, trying not to look too upset. Your uncle hardly notices, however, still grinning broadly.

“Oh yes, my dear,” he declares, turning his wily grin on the Supreme Leader. “I have some very exciting news for you!”

You smile weakly at that, trying to put on a good show for your audience. Your uncle comes to stand beside you, throwing an arm around your shoulders. You try not to pull away too harshly, but you certainly don’t lean into the squeeze that he gives you.

“You are going to be the Empress of the First Order!” your uncle tells you, eyes sparkling as he looks between you and Kylo Ren.

Even though you saw it coming, this news is no less of a blow. You want to sink the floor right there in the receiving room, want to hold your head in your hands and weep, but you know that you cannot. Your future husband stands before you, and your uncle is far too pleased to be of any comfort. You don’t know what he’s traded you for, but it must be something truly special if his boyish excitement about the whole thing is anything to go by.

So, instead of crying, or screaming, or vomiting, you look at the Supreme Leader and try to appear as if you aren’t completely devastated. “Oh,” you say softly. “When are we to be married?”

“In two weeks,” answers Kylo Ren, and you can’t decide how he feels about all of this. It infuriates you in that moment, how guarded he is. How will you ever get along with a man who seemingly feels nothing?

“You are to be married on Undarbi.” Your uncle is fucking smiling again, fucking looking at you as if you should be excited about all of this. “There are going to be many important people there.”

You hate him, your uncle— you hate him in that moment. You always knew he was an overly ambitious social climber, but not for one second did you believe that he would sell off his dead sister’s only child to further his political ambitions.

“That’s lovely,” you say, trying to be sweeter now. Undarbi is a rather beautiful resort planet with a tropical climate. It’s littered with hotels, casinos, and other attractions for the rich and powerful, and you’ve enjoyed a vacation or two there in your youth. You want to ask if you and the Supreme Leader will honeymoon on the planet after your wedding, but the words stick in your throat as you think of what that would likely entail.

“Yes,” the Supreme Leader affirms, although he seems not at all affected. “It’s a nice place for the occasion, I think.”

All you can do now is nod. The lump in your throat has grown too large to speak around, and you feel like you’re going to fall down any minute. It’s too quick of an exit, given the nature of the conversation, but you excuse yourself anyway.

Before you leave, however, you lock eyes with Kylo Ren. It takes everything you have to stop your voice from breaking, but you manage anyway. “It will be an honor to be your wife,” you say softly, and then you’re walking out of the room as fast as you can.

\---

Under more normal circumstances, you would relish in the act of soaking in a hot bath, content to let the warmth of the water soothe your body— but these are not normal circumstances. Your heart is pounding, and you can’t tell if it’s due to anxiety or due to the temperature of the water. It feels as if you’re not even sitting in the bathtub right now— you’re not even sure you’re _real_ in this moment. Not once can you recall ever feeling this disconnected from your corporeal form, but here you are, trapped in your own head, nothing more than a tight knot of thoughts and emotions floating somewhere above the ground.

To make things even more strange, all four of your ladies flank you, two on each side of the bathtub. You don’t know why you demanded a bath when you made it back to your rooms, but you did. Maybe you thought it would relax you, maybe it was your subconscious making you believe that al bath could cleanse you of the problem altogether. In any case, your friends insisted that they needed to be by your side, and the four of them have been trying to comfort you for the better part of twenty minutes now.

“We know that he doesn’t like to drink or partake in stimulants,” Joon says to you, brushing a wisp of damp hair off of your face. She’s always so sweet, Joon, always looking for the bright side of things. Helda nods at her side, and you can see that she’s a little overwhelmed by all of this. Helda’s the youngest of your ladies— barely sixteen years old— and naturally inexperienced when it comes to relationships, and men, and all of the complicated aspects of adult life. Still, she’s trying to help, and it makes your heart ache.

“I talked to some of the concubines,” Sabe tells you, hush-hush so that only you and the other ladies might hear what she’s going to say next. “Your uncle sent some women to the Supreme Leader’s rooms when he first arrived, and he turned them away.”

Sabe makes friends easily— she knows _everyone_ — and her penchant for gossip and intrigue never fails to serve a purpose when the time comes for it.

“What if he likes men?” Lydia asks quickly, and the look on her face would insinuate that she’s filing through every possible scenario in her mind. That’s your Lydia, always so analytical, always so logical. Sabe’s one step ahead of her, though, lathering soap over your back and shoulders as she puts a pin in the idea.

“The King sent male concubines the next night. Kylo Ren dismissed them, too. Stand up, Princess.”

Lydia nods at that, humming shortly. “No whores and no intoxicants— unexpected for a man of his position.” The other girls nod, though you’re not sure Helda completely understands.

You do as Sabe says, allowing her to soap up your legs and abdomen. You only let her run her hands over your body for a few seconds though, too drained to stand for very long.

Lydia switches places with Sabe and starts washing your hair, diligent in her work as she talks to you. “I’m sure the Supreme Leader is very busy, Princess,” she tells you, comforting you in her own way. Lydia’s never been warm and fuzzy, but she’s got no proclivity for cruelty. “Maybe you won’t have to see him often. Maybe you won’t have to spend that much time alone with him.”

She’s choosing her words carefully because of Helda’s presence, but you know exactly what she means.

“Maybe he’ll be nice to spend time with,” Joon offers, looking at each of you in turn. Helda nods, looking hopeful, but Sabe and Lydia remain a bit more guarded. Still, they don’t shoot Joon down for what she’s said.

“You can endear yourself to him,” Sabe says bluntly, confident in your now even though you’re not confident in yourself. Lydia rinses the soap out of your hair and makes quick work of applying a conditioning balm, deft fingers combing through the knots and tangles with a gentle ease.

You cast a look up and over your shoulder, meeting Lydia’s eyes with skepticism. She looks down at you, and you can tell she’s holding back.

“Helda,” you announce, “will you go get me something cold to drink? And perhaps some fruit? I’m feeling ill.”

Helda is up off the floor in an instant, telling you that she’ll be back in just a moment. You and your three remaining ladies remain silent for a few seconds, waiting for Helda’s footsteps to fade in the next room and then in the corridor adjacent to your quarters.

“What if I can’t please him?” you ask quickly, finally able to speak freely now that the child is gone.

“You will,” Sabe insists, rubbing your arm soothingly. Lydia and Joon nod with conviction, but you aren’t convinced.

“I’m not you, Sabe,” you tell her, shaking your head, and it’s true. Sabe is a striking beauty, and so confident, too. Men and women alike lust after her, and she takes lovers to her bed any time she feels like it.

“I promise you, Princess, it’s not as hard as you think to please a man,” Lydia declares, rising from the floor to rummage in a cabinet.

Yourself, Sabe, and Joon quiet at that as you watch Lydia go about her task, knowing full well that she has personal experience in this area of concern. She’s the oldest out of all of you, Lydia, and she was married once. Her husband was much older than her, and Lydia was quite young when they wed. He died several years ago, killed by the Order for trying to stage an uprising; Lydia saved her own life by surrendering immediately, and that’s how she came to serve you here. She doesn’t talk much about her husband, but you don’t think he was the sweetest man in the in the galaxy. He and Lydia never came to care for each other, that much you know for sure.

Lydia comes back to the side of the bathtub with a towel, holding it out to you as one of the other girls helps you stand. As Lydia dries you off, she looks you dead in the face. “Have you ever been fucked before?” she asks, and it’s a serious question.

“I— Well, no!” you splutter, embarrassed by her frankness. You have no reason to be, given Sabe and Joon’s general openness about sex, but still.

“I don’t know what you do at night after we leave,” Lydia says with a shrug. She’s not being accusatory, merely stating the facts as she always does.

Lydia retrieves your robe from its hook on the wall, helping you put the garment on as she continues to speak. “It might hurt the first time,” she tells you, but you already knew that. “You may even bleed. But as you’re lying there, as he’s fucking you, just close your eyes and try to go somewhere else.” Lydia punctuates this statement with an airy wave of her hand, but the look on her face is so hard and serious.

Sabe visibly flinches. “Lydia, I don’t know if that’s the best—”

Lydia doesn’t let her start. “Sabe,” she cuts, “be quiet. I’m happy that the people who take you to bed adore you, but not all of us are so lucky.”

Sabe reddens, lowering her eyes with all the air of a child that’s been reprimanded by her mother.

“Just go somewhere else,” Lydia reiterates, gripping your chin firmly. “It’ll be hard at first, but it gets easier every time. Just lie there, let him do whatever he’s going to do, and go to another place.”

You don’t know what to say to that, but it seems that Lydia doesn’t want a response. She lets go of your face and walks back into your bedroom to do stars know what; Sabe and Joon remain on the floor, glancing up at you as if they barged in on something private. You want to say something to them, anything, but then Lydia comes back with a nightgown for you to put on, and Helda’s behind her with your food, and the moment is gone.

\---

That night, as you lie awake in the wee hours of the morning, Joon slides into bed beside you.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, speaking softly even though the two of you are alone in the room.

“Nothing,” Joon says, talking just as low. “I knew you would be awake. I wanted to check on you.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, truly grateful. You love all of your ladies equally, but you find the greatest comfort in Joon’s friendship. Lydia can be hard, Sabe is sometimes too carefree, and Helda is just so young— but Joon, she understands, or at least tries to.

“Sabe’s right, you know. The Supreme Leader will fall in love with you in no time.”

Joon’s full lips quirk up into a small, hopeful smile, and you can tell that she truly means what she says. You can’t help but return the gesture, even though you’re not even half as confident as she is.

“I just hope we can be cordial with one another,” you say, not wanting to get your hopes up too high. “I don’t know how I’m going to do it, Joon. I don’t know how to be a queen, or a lady, or whatever they’re going to call me after I marry the Supreme Leader. I was never supposed to have power or even a real title. I play nice with diplomats, but past that, I know nothing. Stars, I’m not even sure the Supreme Leader will _want_ me to be anything.”

“I’m sure he will,” Joon soothes, and once again, you believe that she means it. “You’re very capable, and I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.”

“I hope so,” you sigh, shifting to lie on you back. Staring up at the canopy above your bed, you begin speaking almost without meaning to. “I guess I just want to be valued for more than the heirs I’ll produce is all.”

Joon reaches across the bed, squeezing your hand tightly in hers. “You will be, Princess. There’s no way a woman like you could be whittled down to her womb. It’s just not possible.”

Even though what Joon’s said isn’t true, you smile at her anyway. She smiles back, eyes shining with hope for you, and you turn back on your side to face her again.

“Joon,” you say softly.

“Yes?”

“What is it like?”

“What is what like?” Joon asks.

You hate yourself for blushing, but you just can’t help it. “Having sex,” you murmur.

Joon’s never shied away from talking about this topic, and you know good and well that she’s been seeing the son of a diplomat for many weeks now. The two of them must have laid together by now, you _saw_ the love bite on Joon’s chest a few days ago.

“Hm…” Joon trails off, moving to lie on her back now. She puts one arm up above her head, gazing at the ceiling like she’s considering what to say. “Well, first of all, having sex doesn’t always involve all of the theatrics and the acrobatics that Sabe tells us about.”

You and Joon share a private grin at that remark, and you don’t doubt that she’s thinking of some of Sabe’s wilder stories in this moment.

“I figured,” you say companionably.

Joon’s smile fades quickly though, and her gaze turns rather serious. “But it certainly doesn’t have to be what Lydia described, either. It _shouldn’t_ be.”

You’d rather not think about Lydia right now, of how dead her eyes looked as she told you what to do earlier.

“What… What is it like for you?” you ask quietly, partly to change the subject and partly because you want to know. You think that you and Joon might have similar inclinations; at the very least, Joon understands your perspective.

Joon turns her eyes back to the ceiling again, obviously thinking. “It’s like… It’s very exciting?” Joon’s a little uncertain about her choice of words, but you get the gist. “It’s exciting, and also just the slightest bit scary. It’s the intimacy of it, the way you’re so vulnerable with another person. But if you trust that person, you also don’t feel vulnerable at the same time?”

You nod, but only because Joon’s looking for some sort of affirmation. She spreads out a bit on the bed, covers tangled about her legs now. “You feel it in your stomach, mostly, when you get used to having a cock inside you.” That gets your face heating up again, but you don’t want to stop Joon while she’s on a roll like this. “It does sort of hurt that first time, but it’s more uncomfortable than anything. And then the discomfort dissipates, and it’s so _good._ ”

Joon must be remembering something particularly pleasantly, because splays her legs out and lets her nightgown ride up on her thighs. She’s nothing more than a friend to you, Joon, but you must admit that she paints a pretty picture, all tangled in her nigh things with her inky black hair pooling on the pillow. You feel sort of bad for thinking about it, but in this moment, it isn’t hard to imagine the way she would look laid out underneath a man.

“Does it ever get… awkward?” you ask, searching for more context.

Joon grins again, nodding. “Oh, yes,” she says, even though her tone would suggest that she’s nearly laughing. “But when something awkward happens, you just have to laugh through it. If you laugh, neither of you will be embarrassed and it doesn’t have to ruin the mood.”

Everything Joon’s said gives you some comfort, but you’re still nervous about the idea of losing your virginity to a virtual stranger. Still, you don’t press the matter any further, content with the information you’ve been given for now.

“If he’s _at least_ considerate towards you, everything will be fine,” Joon tells you, reaching out to squeeze your hand again. “I promise.”

“Well, let’s hope that Kylo Ren is a considerate man, then,” you sigh, head buzzing with a hundred thoughts.

Joon stays in bed with you, and though it takes time, you’re finally able to fall asleep for a few hours.


	3. III

Kylo Ren leaves your planet the next morning, offering you nothing more than a subdued farewell before he steps aboard his ship.

You watch him depart, this fiancé of yours, wondering what it will be like when the two of you are married. It seems almost unreal to you, the notion of being the Supreme Leader’s wife. You cannot imagine yourself living a life draped in red and black, cannot fathom what it will feel like to be worn on his arm like an accessory at gala dinners and benefit balls. He seems so cold, so _boring_. Kylo Ren never smiles, never laughs…You don’t know if you could live with a man who doesn’t laugh.

As you watch your betrothed’s ship break the atmosphere, you cannot help but feel hopeless.

Over the coming days, your ladies continue their efforts to comfort you. Joon and Sabe are eternally optimistic whenever you express your fears and worries, and Helda always has something sweet to say to you. Lydia doesn’t say much, but she’s quick to remind you that you’re strong.

Preparations for your wedding begin at once, and you find it difficult to find joy in the planning process. The location’s already been set, of course, but it would seem that everything else has been left largely up to your discretion. You choose flowers and a cake flavor the way some people choose coffins and condolence cards; people tell you how beautiful your wedding will be, and you can’t bring yourself to care. Not even your dress fittings excite you, though you think the garment will be quite beautiful when all is said and done.

Perhaps the most painful thing you have to do, however, is continue to deal with your uncle. He’s still not lost that air of giddiness that’s consumed him from the minute that Kylo Ren agreed to marry you, and you’re often overcome with the desire to wring his neck because of it. Every time you look at your uncle’s face, icy betrayal runs right through you. He’s sold you off to a monster, and all he can do is babble on like a child about how _cool_ it will be to schmooze with important Order officials. He cares not for you or for your well-being, that much is clear to your now.

You hate him. You hate him _so much._

Now more than ever, you wish that you mother was still alive. She would have never allowed this, would have never let your uncle sell you off like a head of livestock. When she first died all those years ago, you would cry for her in your bed at night, begging her to come back to you— and here you are ten years later, back in the habit.

Despite all of your anger and sadness, however, you put on a brave face to the world. News of your engagement traveled quickly, of course, and you’re asked about it frequently. Each time, you speak graciously of the Supreme Leader and of the Order as a whole, saying that it will be an honor to be Kylo Ren’s wife. You say that you’re nervous yet excited, that you’d get married tomorrow if you could.

The sickest part is that some of that may even be true, if you dig deep down inside yourself. People may call Kylo Ren a monster and tyrant, but you can’t deny the fact that he’s handsome. And as much as you hate yourself for it, some rather primitive part of you finds the power that he wields undeniably sexy. It’s intoxicating, the notion of being close to the man who holds the entire galaxy in the palm of his hand. The protection is what’s most alluring, you think, the idea of being untouchable. Your craving for shelter and security likely stems from your uncle’s virtual abandonment of you, but you decide to cut yourself some slack on that one for the time being.

As for marrying quickly, well… You just want to get it over with, the waiting. You have no desire to leave your home and your friends, of course, but you don’t think you can stand this much longer. You feel like you’re going crazy, thinking and planning, lying in bed unable to sleep each night. If you spend one more evening running through every possible scenario of what your life will be like with Kylo Ren, you may very well crack. You’re sure you’ll feel differently when the time actually comes, but you just want to get the wedding (and the wedding night) over with. Only then can you find some peace again… Maybe.

\---

Five days after Kylo Ren departs from your planet, you get word that he’s coming back.

It’s Sabe who tells you and the other ladies, barreling into your chambers so quickly that you’re afraid she’ll trip over her skirts.

“You need to get dressed!” she exclaims, flustered.

“I am dressed,” you say, and you, Helda, Joon, and Lydia are all looking at her strangely.

“Yes, but you need to get even more dressed,” declares Sabe, throwing open the doors to your wardrobe quickly. “The Supreme Leader will be here soon, and you need to be ready.”

Everyone bolts up at that, already moving to do this or that. Joon says she’ll start picking out jewelry for you to wear, and Lydia goes into the ‘fresher to find pins for your hair. You tell Helda to undo the lacing on your dress and she gets right to it, surprisingly deft.

“How do you know that he’s coming?” you ask Sabe, and while your tone would suggest skepticism, you already know that her intel’s legitimate.

“The royal guard has to prepare a secure landing area for all Order craft prior to their arrival,” Sabe tells you, smiling coyly. Instantly, you picture the captain she’s been seeing, and all you can do is shake your head.

“You’re the best, Sabe,” you sigh, stepping out of your clothes with Helda’s help.

Sabe, ever the picture of humility, simply replies, “I know.”

Joon smartly suggests that you should wear red, and Sabe comes up from your many dresses with a gauzy crimson frock in her arms. It’s a simple gown, not too dressy or showy, but the silhouette seems appropriate for the occasion.

Lydia, ever the skilled hairdresser, makes quick work changing your hairstyle. With a few well-placed pins and a little braiding, she manages to intertwine the Order’s sleek aesthetic with some of your home planet’s traditional updos. Joon paints your face and helps you accessorize, murmuring about how important it is to play up your eyes. When all is said and done, you look rather stately— more like a queen than a princess, one could say.

“He’s going to fall at your feet,” Sabe declares, supremely satisfied with your appearance.

“Yes,” Lydia says, and that’s high praise from her, “very pretty.”

Joon fusses with a few wisps of your hair as the others look upon you, motherly as she reminds you to smile. “You’re so pretty when you smile,” she beams, and Helda quickly agrees.

\---

When the times comes for you to greet your fiancé, you and your ladies move en masse to the receiving room. Your uncle is already there, practically vibrating with anticipation. You want to tell him how pathetic he is, how he shouldn’t even consider himself a man for selling you out the way he did, but you bite your tongue; it simply wouldn’t do to start a war when the Supreme Leader’s arrival is imminent.

Kylo Ren is alone when he strides into the receiving room, sans helmet. Even with his face uncovered, the Supreme Leader is no less intimidating. It’s the scar on his face, you think, the hard set of his mouth.

The lot of you bow deeply in acknowledgement, and then your uncle launches right into his ass-kissing campaign. “Supreme Leader!” he exclaims, beaming, but Kylo Ren doesn’t seem excited to see him.

“Your Highness,” he says evenly. The glance he throws your uncle is cursory at best, and you’re almost ashamed of yourself for reveling in your uncle’s poor treatment… almost.

Your fiancé walks right up to you and your ladies, almost completely ignoring your uncle. Only then do you notice the velvet jewelry box clutched in Kylo Ren’s hands.

“Supreme Leader.” You’re echoing your uncle’s greeting, choosing to omit the overtones of blatant desperation that were so prevalent in his voice. “To what do we owe the honor of receiving you?”

“I was hoping to speak with you,” he says, glancing quickly at your uncle and your ladies. “Alone, if possible.”

Though you could not have less respect for him, you look to your uncle for approval anyway. It’s tradition on your planet that couples are not allowed to be alone together until they marry, meaning that all interactions between the betrothed must be chaperoned. However, it would seem that your uncle sustained some sort of brain trauma shortly before the Supreme Leader’s arrival, because he mentions nothing of your planet’s courting customs.

“Yes, of course!” he affirms. “She’s all yours!”

Your uncle’s phrasing makes you want to vomit, but you school your expression and move past it. Your ladies move to leave, curtsying to the Supreme Leader before they depart. Lydia is the only one that speaks to you, saying that you should call for her or the others if you need anything. The look in her eyes is strange, and a chill runs down your back when she lets her gaze linger on the Supreme Leader for just a moment too long. Kylo doesn’t say anything, though, and then the two of you are walking out of the receiving room together.

The two of you trek through the palace halls in silence for a little while. You have a sitting room in mind for this meeting, one that faces the gardens, but it will take a few minutes to get there.

“Who were those women?” your fiancé asks lightly. It may be your imagination, but you think that Kylo Ren seems rather… _nervous_ to be talking to you like this. He’s acting awkward, at the very least, and you can’t say that you’re completely comfortable either.

“My attendants,” you answer simply, directing him up a flight of stairs with a wave of your hand. You take care to keep pace with your fiancé, unwilling to trail after him as your uncle does.

Finally, the two of reach your chosen sitting room. It’s a pretty space, furnished with plush sofas and chairs. The walls are a cheerful shade of yellow, and a hearth sits off to one side, useless in this season’s warm weather. You chose this room, however, because of the large expanse of windows that cover almost the entirety of the back wall. They overlook the gardens, a popular lounging space for the people of the palace, and you feel safer knowing that others can see you and Kylo Ren in here together. The exposure will keep him honest, you think.

You stare up at the Supreme Leader, lowering yourself demurely onto one of the room’s many couches. Kylo Ren sits across from you, posture rather rigid. He always looks so stiff, this fiancé of yours— you’ve never seen him relax, not once.

“What would you like to discuss?” you ask, conscious of every mannerism and expression. You try to look pleasant and calm, folding your hands neatly in your lap as you look to the Supreme Leader to explain why he’s come all this way.

“I actually want to give you something,” says Kylo Ren, setting the jewelry box that’s he’s been holding onto all this time down in front of you. “Your uncle never told me that engagement rings were part of your planet’s betrothal customs. It wasn’t until I left that I realized I hadn’t solidified our engagement properly.”

He reaches over as he says this, opening the box that he’s placed in front of you. “I apologize for not bringing them sooner,” he goes on to say. “Some of them required careful craftsmanship, so procuring them took time.”

You hardly hear the Supreme leader say all of this, though, too absorbed in contents of the container. Six rings glitter before you, all of them unlike any jewelry you’ve ever seen before. The galaxies finest, rarest stones glint in the light, set into metal of the highest quality. Some of the bands are gold, others silver, but all of them are finely made and extremely beautiful. You cannot believe that Kylo was able to get his hands on these works of art in less than a week, but you suppose that everyone drops everything to do favors for a man like him.

“The custom is one ring,” you say quietly, still staring down at the beauty before you.

“Yes, I know,” Kylo says. “I… I just didn’t know what you would like, so I thought it best to let you choose.”

Your face gets hot at that, at the idea that Kylo Ren cared enough to have all these rings made just to please you. The fact that he cared about the customs of your planet alone is enough to soften your heart just a bit. You know you _should_ be upset by the fact that your fiancé knows nothing about you or your tastes, but the prettiness of the jewelry is an excellent salve for that small wound, all things considered.

“Can I try them on?” you ask, not wanting to seem greedy.

“Please,” Kylo allows.

Carefully, you slip the rings on one by one, surprised that they fit so well. A couple of them don’t look _so_ pretty against your skin tone, so you set them aside, observing the other four carefully. Your fiancé watches you intently, perched on the edge of his seat. He’s trying to hide it, but you can tell that Kylo’s a bit nervous about all of this.

After several minutes of playing, you settle on one ring, announcing, “I think this is it!” as you set the runner-up back with the other contenders.

The ring you’ve chosen is something truly special, with an intricate band and platinum setting. But the stone, oh stars, the _stone_! It’s the most peculiar thing, unlike any gem you’ve ever seen before! In shadow, it’s inky black, black like the blackness of the night sky, but in the light, it twinkles and glimmers as if someone’s managed to trap hundreds of little stars within the confines of its cuts. You don’t think you’ve ever seen someone wear jewelry made of this material, at least not on your planet.

“I quite liked that one myself,” the Supreme Leader says, and you’re floored to see him acting rather s _hy_.

“It’s the most beautiful piece of jewelry I’ve ever put on,” you gush.

You tuck the other rings back where they go, shutting the box and handing it to your fiancé in one motion with a jest. “It almost pains me to give them back,”

“Oh, no,” Kylo Ren says, “those are yours.”

You’re taken aback by that. “I can’t take all of these from you,” you press, still trying to hand the box back to him. Even so, Kylo won’t take it from you.

“I had all of those made for you. That one,” he points to the ring on your hand, “is your engagement ring, but you can do what you wish the others.”

Finally, you capitulate and pull the box back into your lap. “Thank you,” you say quietly, heart soft in the moment. You’ve never had a man give you jewelry before, and you’re just the slightest bit ashamed of yourself for letting the gesture affect you so intensely.

You and the Supreme Leader sit in silence for a time, only daring to look at one another through your lashes. After a few moments, Kylo speaks.

“How are preparations for the wedding coming along?” he asks, straightening his posture. You know he doesn’t mean to do it, but Kylo’s question ruins the whole mood of the meeting, reminds you that this is not all fun and games and gifts. You’re going to be this man’s wife, and soon.

“Everything is going well,” you say, trying not to let your sadness show on your face too blatantly. You wouldn’t want to offend the Supreme Leader, wouldn’t want him to know how _afraid_ you are. You’re well aware that he can reads minds if he wants to, and you pray that you’re guarding your thoughts carefully enough.

“I hope you like everything I’ve chosen,” you add, trying to keep the conversation going more than anything. It’s so depressing, to talk about your wedding with your fiancé this way. You’d always had a suspicion that your marriage would be arranged, but to a _virtual stranger_? Stars, you _despise_ your uncle—

“It doesn’t matter to me,” Kylo says flippantly, shaking his head. “I find the idea of big weddings a bit ridiculous anyway.”

It stings to hear your betrothed say something like that. You certainly haven’t been reveling in planning your wedding, but you’ve been working pretty fucking hard on the whole thing since Kylo and his men left a few days ago.

Your feelings must show on your face, because the Supreme Leader is quick to try and backtrack.

“I just mean that I’m not looking forward to the party,” he says, but that hurts you even more. He knows it too, because Kylo grimaces just the slightest bit at the look you give him.

How _stupid_ could you be? You feel so silly for acting the way you did, for getting your hopes up over a few pieces of jewelry and a private visit like a little girl being courted for the first time. Kylo Ren doesn’t love you— he doesn’t even care for you. All you are to him is an incubator, a vessel for his heirs. You aren’t special to him, and it’s likely that you never will be. Even your stupid ring doesn’t mean anything. It’s just something to appease you, to make you look even more like a decoration.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll manage to get through it,” you say, and your tone is not at all nice. The Supreme Leader looks like he wants to speak, but you don’t let him, rising from you seat quickly. Halfway to the door, you turn back to your fiancé, one hand braced on your hip. “Do you want me to escort you to your ship, or can you find your way back on your own?”

Kylo looks stricken by your attitude, taking a few steps toward you. “Princess, I…” He sighs deeply. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I simply meant that I don’t care for parties _in general._ I’m sure whatever you’ve chosen for the wedding will be lovely.”

The word “lovely” sounds foreign on Kylo Ren’s tongue, but it does something to dull the edges of your anger. However, his clarification most certainly does _not_ soothe your other wounds, so you continue to stare your fiancé down.

“Why me?” you ask suddenly, bitterly. “You’re a powerful man. I’m sure the Order is riddled with women willing to hang off your arm for all eternity, and yet you and my uncle are going to force me to do it instead. Why?”

Kylo lowers his eyes for a moment. “The Order’s reach is growing rapidly, and I find myself in need of an extra set of hands. Or, rather, a second face.”

“So choose someone from the Order.” In the back of your mind, you know that it might be in your best interest to watch your tone, but the Supreme Leader seems more flustered than angry at this point.

“I don’t trust anyone in the Order to be close to me in that way,” Kylo counters, meeting your gaze now.

You cross your arms over your chest. “But you trust a virtual stranger? A princess that was never supposed to rule anything or anyone? You do realize that my uncle has three children that would take the throne before me, don’t you?”

You aren’t sure why you’re choosing to say all of this now, but you suppose that it’s as good a time as any. You may be fucking up your uncle’s precious alliance by being so blunt and so angry, but you just don’t care anymore. You’re sick and tired of hiding how you feel, sick and tired of stuffing every fear and worry down your throat. If you have to put on one more brave face, you’re going to tear your fucking hair out.

“That’s exactly why I chose you.” Kylo takes a tentative step towards you. “You aren’t clouded by ambition or hunger for power. Everyone I’ve spoken to says that your uncle’s subjects are very fond of you. You’re good with people, and you’re kind, yet you’re not a doormat either.”

“Who told you that?” you ask quietly, taken aback. You knew that the people like you well enough, but you didn’t know that the members of your uncle’s court thought so highly of you.

“All of the noblemen, their spouses, and the King,” Kylo replies.

You say nothing to that, choosing instead to look at the floor. Your engagement ring glints in the light, still incredibly beautiful in the wake of you and Kylo’s tiff.

“I know we don’t know each other, but I really think that you’re the one for this position. I see a leader in you, a leader that I need on my side to strengthen the Order’s grip on the galaxy. But,” Kylo says, “if you don’t want to be my wife, all you have to do is say so. I won’t have you unless you’re willing.”

You stare at this man before you, at your fiancé. The look in his eyes is earnest, yet nervous. You can tell that he’s unsure of what you’ll say next, and you have to admit that it’s just the slightest bit satisfying to make a man like Kylo Ren squirm.

“If I wanted to walk away right now, I could?” you ask, though you already know the truth.

Kylo only nods, and you run your finger over the sharp edges of your engagement ring hard enough to draw blood.

\---

It’s nearly dusk when you get back to your chambers. All four of your ladies are waiting for you there, chewing on their nails and pacing nervously. They rush to you when you come through the door, Lydia heading the pack.

“What did he want?” she asks, brushing wisps of hair off your face as she looks you over.

“They’re going to call me Empress,” you say, placing your box of rings down on your vanity haphazardly.

“What?” Lydia asks, hot on your heels as you head into your ‘fresher.

“Draw me a bath,” you say, speaking to no one in particular as you tug down the straps of your dress.


	4. IV

For the second time in a week, you find yourself surrounded by your ladies as you soak in the bathtub. It’s eerily quiet now, quieter than it was when all of you first did this.

Sabe’s bathing you again, more out of nervous need to do something than anything, you think, but everyone else sits in silence. You let her clean you, unsure of where you should start with all of this. You feel like your conversation with the Supreme Leader occurred days ago, yet he’s only been gone for less than an hour.

“Your ring is ridiculously big,” Sabe tells you, teasing in a rather subdued way as she run soap over your left hand.

“You’re just jealous that no man’s every given you a piece of space itself,” Joon counters, sticking her tongue out at Sabe when Sabe shoots daggers her way.

Joon’s smart remark cuts the tension, but Helda’s innocent little giggle breaks it entirely. You finally crack a smile, eternally grateful that all of your friends love to poke fun at one another.

“It’s not a piece of space,” you say, looking down at the prettiness of your ring. “It’s a gemstone. Not even the First Order is capable of capturing the stars.”

Sabe rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning as she does it. “One man buys her a piece of jewelry and now she fancies herself a poet.”

Lydia snorts at that, recoiling when you splash her with a bit of water for it.

“I love my ring,” you declare evenly, sinking down further into the water. Sabe pinches your side, grinning mischievously.

“Yes, but do you _love_ Kylo Ren?” she teases. You splash her too, managing to douse the front of her dress fairly well.

Helda laughs at that, and you have to grab Sabe’s arm to stop her from attacking the girl with a splash of her own.

“I think that’s enough,” Lydia says, moving behind you to wet and wash your hair. Her touch is relaxing, and you let your eyes slip closed as she massages your scalp.

“What did the two of your talk about, besides your little piece of the galaxy?” It’s as close as Lydia will come to a jest, but you know that she’s far more concerned about the Supreme Leader’s treatment of you.

“Where he got the rings from, the wedding,” you answer, casual even as you remember how you nearly stormed out of the room when Kylo insinuated that he wasn’t excited for the ceremony.

“That’s all?” Lydia asks, still working the shampoo through your hair.

You hesitate at that, considering the implications of being honest for a moment.

“He offered me an out.”

Lydia’s fingers still in your hair, suds slipping down her wrists and onto your shoulders. Sabe and Joon are slack jawed, simply staring at you, and Helda twists her hands nervously in her skirt at the sight of everyone’s disbelief.

“What do you mean?” Lydia asks, seemingly the only one able to speak. You refuse to look at her or at anyone else, for that matter.

“He said he wouldn’t marry me if I didn’t want to be his wife,” you explain, biting your lip.

“Then why do you still have that ring on?” Sabe asks, and there’s an edge to her voice that makes the back of your neck prickle.

“Sabe-“ Joon begins, already sensing a problem. Joon’s always been good at that, cluing in on people’s emotions before they have chance to spike.

“No, Joon, shut up,” Sabe barks, jumping to her feet. She’s furious, eyes ablaze, hands balled up tight by her sides. “You aren’t seriously going to marry him now, are you?”

Lydia begins rinsing the soap from your hair, making quick work of the task. All you can do is stare up at Sabe, wide-eyed as your mouth moves of its own accord. No words come out, only short, aborted sounds that make you sound like a fool.

“I can’t fucking believe you,” Sabe spits, shaking her head as if she’s disgusted by the mere site of you.

Lydia’s done with your hair now, urging you out of the bathtub. “What is that supposed to mean?” you counter, deeply offended by Sabe’s demeanor. Helda’s by your side with a towel and your robe, already trying to dry you and get you dressed.

“Your uncle practically sells you off to the galaxy’s biggest tyrant, and you mope around and act like you’ve been sentenced to death. Fine, I can understand that!” Sabe exclaims, throwing her arms up in exasperation. “But then the Supreme Leader himself gives you an opportunity to call the whole thing off, and you don’t take it? What the fuck is that?”

Everyone’s trying to talk now, you and Joon and Lydia all cutting in at the same time. Only Helda remains silent, standing off to the side and watching on anxiously, still twisting and twisting her fists in the fabric of her skirts.

“Sabe, you need to calm-“ Joon tries to say.

“I cannot believe-“ Lydia hisses, cut off by you.

“It’s not as simple as you’re making it out to be,” you tell Sabe. A feeling of anxiety clamps down on your chest, and you feel so cold in the warmth of the room.

Your statement incenses Sabe. “What makes it so complicated then, Princess? Hm? Because it seems simple to me.” She jabs her finger at you, almost accusatorily. “You were fucking terrified to marry Kylo Ren, but now you’re not, and all after one conversation with the man! Why is that?”

A wave of anger washes over you at that, it makes you shiver in your robe. “The Supreme Leader thinks I can help the Order,” you hiss, taking a step towards your friend. “He wants me to help him rule.”

“He said that?” Joon interjects, brows raised. You nod, at her, whipping your head around quickly.

Sabe’s scoff feels like a punch in the gut. “Why?” she asks, not looking for an actual answer. “Your uncle has you make appearances for diplomatic reasons and that’s about it. You’ve never led negotiations or organized a benefit. You’ve never commanded an army or drafted a peace treaty. You’ve never done _anything_.”

You don’t recognize the Sabe that stands before you now. You knew nothing of the cruel streak that she’s displaying, had no idea that she could behave this way. And what’s worse, she’s absolutely right— you’ve never done anything but sit beside your uncle and look pretty while everyone around you handled the real problems. Past your beauty and your womb, what do you have to offer your fiancé?

“Kylo thinks I’m a good fit,” you insist, but even you don’t believe what you’re saying now. Tears slip down your face as you cast your eyes towards the floor, ashamed of yourself for so many reasons in this moment.

Sabe laughs a cruel laugh right in your face. “Yes, a good fit for taking his cock—”

Lydia strikes Sabe across the cheek, and the sound of it is almost deafening. Helda and Joon visibly flinch, but you’re too shocked to move a muscle. One minute, Lydia was standing off to the side behind you, but now she’s front and center in between you and Sabe.

Lydia must be stronger than any of you knew because the force of her slap throws Sabe into the countertop at her side. Sabe looks terrified, bracing herself against the marble. She goes to say something, possibly to apologize, but Lydia is in no mood to hear her talk anymore.

“You insolent, disrespectful, disgusting _child,_ ” Lydia hisses. Her eyes are bright with rage, and she stalks towards Sabe like an animal going in for the kill. “How _dare_ you speak to your mistress that way? Were you dropped on your head, or are you really that stupid?”

“Lydia, I—”

“Shut the fuck up, Sabe,” Lydia spits. “I am so tired of your mouth. You have said quite enough! I cannot believe that you would talk to your friend this way. The Princess has loved you, and cared for you, and put up with every little thing that you do. And how do you repay her? By calling her a useless cocksleeve? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Despite Lydia’s rage, Sabe is still willing to challenge her. “I just can’t believe that she’s going to leave her home planet to marry that man!” She cuts her eyes to you, angry again, but your own rage burns underneath your skin like fire.

“There’s nothing for me here!” you scream. The fury in your voice is powerful enough to wipe the look off of Sabe’s face, and Helda retreats into the corner of the room.

“What do you mean?” Joon ask softly, concern laced into the nervous expression on her face.

“Well!” you exclaim, gesturing all about you. “What is there for me to look forward to? I have no power, no responsibilities of my own. My uncle doesn’t love me, that much is clear now. My cousins have never been nice to me, I don’t see that ever changing. I have no lover and no potential suitors, if you don’t count the Supreme Leader. I… I’m nothing here,” you say pitifully, losing stream now. You choke out a sob, unable to stop yourself, and Lydia lays her hand on your arm.

“I just…” you whisper, chin trembling. “I just want to _be_ somebody, and I can’t do that on this planet.”

“Princess,” Joon breathes, coming to hug you. Lydia rubs your back, and even Helda cautions a comforting comment.

“You’re someone to us already,” she says, and you could burst into tears at the mere sound of her sweet little voice. You look at Sabe, thinking surely that her attitude has changed after your speech. But when you meet her eyes, there is nothing but contempt swimming in her irises.

“You’re just like your uncle,” she declares, and you nearly choke on the air of superiority wafting around her. Joon pulls away from you, surely turning to scold Sabe for what she’s said, but she doesn’t get the chance.

“You black-hearted little twit!” Lydia roars, and she’s on Sabe faster than you or Joon can stop her.

Lydia grabs Sabe by her arms, shaking her violently as she shouts right in her face. “Get out!” she screams, “Get out and don’t come back! You have no _idea_ what the Princess is going through, and what’s worse, you won’t even try to understand! You’ve never known duty, or responsibility, and it shows in everything you’ve just said! If you hate her so much for what she’s decided to do, leave!”

And with that, Lydia lets go of Sabe, pushing her to the ground. Sabe catches herself on her hands, completely stricken as she tries to haul herself off the floor. “You’re not my mother,” she spits, and you cannot understand why she still insists on being so defiant. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

Sabe’s up now, standing once more with a rigid posture. “You think you know everything because you’re older and you were married, but you don’t, Lydia. Your husband never loved you because you were a mean, spiteful, barren hag!”

Helda claps her hands over her mouth at that, and it takes everything you have to physically restrain Lydia. She fights you hard, no doubt bent on tearing out Sabe’s eyes.

(For a brief moment, you almost let her.)

“Sabe, get _out_!” Joon shouts, giving your vicious “friend” the final push she needs to flee from your chambers.

It takes just seconds for Sabe’s footsteps to fade in the corridor, and when they do, you, Lydia, Joon, and Helda are left to absorb all that’s just happened.

“What is wrong with her?” Joon demands, speaking to no one and everyone all at once. You suck in breath after breath, slowly relaxing your grip on Lydia.

“I have no idea,” you breathe. You feel like you should be crying, given the state of things, but you can’t make yourself sob.

You feel as though you’ve been hit head-on by transport ship. Every muscle in your body aches, and you very well could fall down at any minute. Joon must feel the same way, because she leans back against the countertop, rubbing at her temples.

In a moment of horrifying clarity, you realize that Helda’s bore witness to every bit of the last twenty minutes.

“Helda,” you say quickly, looking over at her. She’s crowded herself in the corner of the room, as far away as possible from where you and Lydia fought with Sabe. Helda’s white as a sheet and trembling, hands _still_ working nervously in the fabric of her skirt. You move to go to her, to offer her some comfort, but Lydia heads you off.

“Helda,” Lydia says, mimicking you. She walks to the child, arms outstretched, and the look of remorse of Lydia’s face is too apparent to be disingenuous. “Helda, I am so sorry I spoke that way in front of you.”

Lydia clutches Helda against her chest, and Helda lets her, not really returning the hug. “That was awful,” the child whispers, tears slipping down her face.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, to Helda and to everyone else. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I should have just talked about my engagement ring and left the rest of it alone.”

Joon shakes her head quickly, scoffing. “No,” she tells you, “ _you_ should be able to talk about whatever the fuck you want. _Sabe_ should remember her place and try to have a little empathy for other people.”

“Precisely,” Lydia says, wiping at Helda’s face with a washcloth. Helda isn’t exactly perky, but her eyes have lost their terrified stare. “Sabe should support you and understand that not all of us get to galivant about without consequences or obligations.”

“I really could have broken the engagement off,” you say, letting Joon guide you to your vanity. She begins combing your hair, and Helda and Lydia come to gather around you. “But I just… I didn’t want to. I thought I did, but then the Supreme Leader told me that he wanted my help, and it made me… _excited_ to get married. Maybe I am like my uncle…”

Joon scoffs, batting you lightly with the comb in her hand. “Don’t even say that,” she scolds, “you’re nothing like that man. All he wants it power and money. All _you_ want is an ounce of respect and a fulfilling life.”

Joon moves aside at Lydia’s silent prompting, making quick work of braiding your hair.

“I want to be cared for, too,” you admit quietly, almost with shame.

“Well, who doesn’t?” Lydia asks simply. “You’re a kind, sweet girl, and you deserve to be treated as such.

“That’s Sabe’s problem.”

You’re surprised to hear Helda saying that, but yourself and the others turn to her nonetheless.

“What do you mean?” Lydia asks.

“Well,” says Helda, “everyone adores Sabe. All of the men and women at court think she’s pretty, and her parents are nice to her. Sabe’s never been disliked in her life, and it’s gotten to her head.”

It’s flooring to hear Helda talk with such mature clarity, and you can’t help but give yourself a jab for underestimating her. All this time, you and the others have thought of Helda as an inexperienced child, but it’s clear that she understands more than any of you thought.

“Let her go,” Lydia declares, tying off your hair as she casts an impressed look Helda’s way. “You have bigger things to worry about.”


	5. V

Sabe doesn’t come back to apologize, and you don’t run after her to make amends. Instead, you busy yourself with final preparations for your wedding, trying not to grow too nervous as the day approaches. Lydia, Helda, and Joon are by your side the entire time, of course, helping you with this and that, running here and there whenever you ask them to.

Your final dress fitting comes the day before you’re due to leave for Undarbi, and you must admit that it’s the only appointment that you’re excited for. The palace seamstresses have been working tirelessly since you become engaged to the Supreme Leader, and what they’ve come up with is truly a work of art.

White is traditional for a bride on your planet, but you insisted on being wed in cream instead. You never liked yourself in white, but any shade of ivory has always looked beautiful against your skin and hair. Instead of going with an airy, gauzy dress like one would expect to find at a wedding set on a beach resort, you’ve opted to style your garment in a sleeker vein. Long sleeves, a high collar, simple yet still very intricate detailing— you think you’ve done a good job of marrying (for lack of a better word) the styles of your home planet with the Order’s aesthetics. And of course, the dress has been precisely tailored just for you, custom made in every way.

Once the seamstresses get your laced and buttoned into your gown, you feel like you’re dreaming. You look so beautiful, absolutely _radiant_ , and it’s in this moment that it all feels real to you. Day after tomorrow, you will be married to the Supreme Leader of the First Order in this gorgeous, opulent gown.

“You’re a vision,” Lydia declares, standing between Helda and Joon. You look over at your friend and smile, running your hands down your abdomen experimentally.

“How does it look in the back?” you ask, twisting slightly so that you might get a better look at yourself.

“Absolutely perfect,” Joon declares, moving behind you to straighten the gown’s train. You had insisted on having one, and you love how it’s turned out, perfectly cut and rich with tiny, intricate embroidery.

“It is to your liking, Princess?” one of the seamstresses asks, hands folded in front of her. You don’t mean to gush, but you can’t help yourself, not when you feel so beautiful.

“Oh, yes!” you exclaim, running a hand down one of your arms. The fabric of your gown is so soft beneath your hands, and you wonder idly what your husband will think of it.

After you give the dress your final approval, the seamstresses help you of it, packing the garment away to be shipped to Undarbi for the wedding. It’s what’s happened to a lot of your things as of late, really; everything you own and most of your clothes have been sent to the Order in preparation for your arrival on the Supremacy, the ship that’s to be your home once you marry Kylo Ren. You had less to send than you thought you would, actually, and you were glad for that. You overthink everything these days, worried about making a bad impression on your new husband. Kylo thinks something of you, that much he said himself, but you’re still worried about earning his affections and keeping his respect.

As the wedding draws nearer, your anxiety about your wedding night rears its ugly head. You’re concerned about forging companionship with your husband, of course, but it’s been difficult not to fixate on the physical aspects of your relationship over the past couple of days. Joon has assured you more than once that you’ll find your way as you and Kylo fall into bed together, but you’re still extremely nervous about the prospect of having sex with a virtual stranger. You pray that Kylo will be gentle with you, that he’ll listen if you say you’re uncomfortable or in pain. You know that Lydia was a virgin when she married her husband, but you feel like you can’t ask her about what happened on their wedding night. You’re afraid her story will only frighten you more, so you choose to dwell on Joon’s romantic, positive descriptions of sex instead.

You insist on having a private dinner that night, wanting to enjoy this final evening on your home planet with only those who care for you. Joon, Helda, and Lydia, and yourself sit around a small table together, and while the lot of you cut up and laugh happily, there’s an undertone of melancholy permeating the entire meal. Though you’re still incredibly angry with her, a small part of you still wishes that Sabe was present as well. But, she never shows, and it doesn’t hurt you too badly— you hadn’t been expecting her anyway.

Your ladies stay with you well into the wee hours of the morning, but they eventually depart, telling you to sleep well if you can. That night, after everyone’s left, you spend a long time out on the balcony, taking in the moons and stars that dot your planet’s sky one last time.

\---

In the morning, you dress and supervise the packing of your last few belongings. Nervous butterflies flit about your stomach as you wait for an Order landing party to come collect your party, eternally grateful that your ladies have been allowed to travel with you.

It’s strange, being flanked by stormtroopers as you board the ship that will take you to Undarbi, but you don’t say anything about it. The journey to the resort is short, thankfully, and the leader of the little group sent to collect you is friendly enough. Still, the ride is mostly silent, and you’re happy to make landing.

Undarbi is just as beautiful as you remember it, sunny and balmy and warm. It’s a pleasure to hear the crash of the ocean behind you as you and your ladies make your way inside, sucking in breaths of salty air as you’re welcomed by staff member after staff member. Even the owner of the resort himself is there to greet you, gushing about what an honor it is to host you and Kylo’s wedding. It’s overwhelming, all of the good tidings and compliments that are thrown your way as you come inside, but you like to think that you take it all in stride well enough.

An official from the Order is waiting for you on the other side of the crowd, sleek and clean-cut in a dark outfit and boots. Sweat beads on the back of your neck, but this man seems hardly affected by the humidity. He introduces himself graciously, ushering you through the lobby and up to your rooms for the night with two stormtroopers in tow. That’s been a constant since you were picked up this morning— guards are ever-present, sticking close to you and your ladies.

The rooms you’re shown to aren’t the ones you’ll share with your husband tomorrow night, of course, but they are beautiful and extravagant nonetheless. The chambers themselves are massive in size, built from the finest stones and woods you’ve ever seen. Every furnishing is rich and plush, every detail and decoration opulent and grand. Tomorrow, you’ll board the Supremacy and begin living with your husband, but tonight, you’ll sleep alone for the last time.

Your ladies are housed elsewhere, so you’re left alone for a moment as they’re shown to their own living arrangements. Grateful for the moment of privacy, you perch on the foot of your bed, looking all about at the things around you. A little snooping lets you know that your things have already been put away for you, and it’s a relief to see that your wedding clothes have arrived safely. Your engagement ring is still on your hand, of course, and you play with it idly as you walk around.

The balcony attached to your room overlooks a private stretch of beach. You open the double doors to let in some air, breathing deeply so that the salt may cleanse your lungs and calm your nerves. The moment of peace passes quickly though, broken by a knock at your door.

When you answer, you find your fiancé standing before you, hands clasped behind his back. You muster up a small smile at the sight of him, a burst of butterflies going wild in your stomach.

“Supreme Leader,” you say, curtsying deeply. You try not to let your nerves show outwardly, but you can feel your hands fidgeting at your sides.

“Princess,” he says, tone even. “I was informed of your arrival, and I thought it appropriate to come see how you’re settling in.”

 _Always so formal,_ you think to yourself, but it’s not a negative observation. “I’m settling in just fine, thank you,” you tell your fiancé, smiling more broadly. “This resort is very beautiful.”

Kylo nods at that. “Excellent. I’m glad you think so.”

You nod back, and the two of you stand in silence for a moment. Kylo is the first to speak.

“I also wanted to ask you if you would allow me to escort you down to dinner in a few hours,” he blurts, and you can tell by the way that his arms work under his clothes that he’s fidgeting with his hands behind his back.

“Oh,” you breathe, taken aback. “Yes, of course. That would be lovely.”

You hadn’t even considered it, the idea of having to make an appearance at the evening meal tonight. You feel stupid for letting it slip your mind, but thankfully, you had the good sense to have a few changes of clothes sent with you along with your wedding things and night clothes.

“Is it just going to be us, or…?”

“No,” Kylo answers quickly. “There will be a few members of the Order in attendance, your family, and then of course you and myself. Your attendants are welcome to come too, of course.”

“I’ll be ready,” you assure him, somehow growing even more nervous than you already were. It’s petrifying, the prospect of being shown off to Order officials, and you have always _dreaded_ having to see your cousins.

Kylo nods and bids you farewell, turning and walking off down the corridor. You can tell that he’s trying to be friendly and warm in his own way, and you figure that him asking to escort you to dinner is an attempt to forge some sort of friendship or bond between the two of you.

Thankfully, Helda, Joon, and Lydia reappear at your door soon after the Supreme Leader leaves, and they help you decide what to wear. It makes you feel like a basket case, but you let them take the reins, too anxious to be of use. As always, Lydia does your hair, Joon helps you with your makeup, and Helda has many helpful suggestions regarding which earrings would look best with your outfit.

When all is said and done, you think you look rather pretty. Your dress is made of light, airy fabrics, and you’re grateful for that. Even the fall of nighttime has done nothing to stifle the heat outside, and now more than ever, you thank the stars for central cooling.

Your ladies depart once you’re dressed, saying that they’ll see you at dinner. Once they’re gone, you’re left waiting for Kylo to come, perched carefully on the stool in front of your vanity so as not to wrinkle your clothes. You don’t have to wait long, however, because your fiancé arrives promptly on the hour.

The Supreme Leader looks rather handsome, dressed in finer, lighter eveningwear, and way he regards you when you open the door makes you feel a bit shy. Still, you greet him brightly, happy to take the arm that he offers to you.

\---

The dinner table is already crowded by the time you and Kylo arrive, dotted with Order officials, their wives… and, unfortunately, your uncle and every single one of your cousins. There’s three of them, two boys a girl, and you grow sick at the mere sight of their faces. Sebastian, Mila, and Tensin have always tormented you, always, even after your mother died. They’ve been away at school for the past several years, only coming home for major holidays, but it’s no surprise to you that your uncle’s yanked them away from their educations for this. How could he pass up an opportunity to parade his children around in front of the elite?

Yourself and Kylo are greeted with kind words, and everyone stands from their chairs in respect. Kylo nods silently, and everyone sits down again, back to chattering and drinking merrily like nothing happened. Your ladies wave you over, the three of them seated next to two empty chairs at the table, and you and Kylo begin moving that way. You’re relieved to see that they’ll be by your side, your head already swirling with new faces and names to learn.

You don’t make it to your seats.

“Cousin!”

Mila’s shrill voice forces the pleasant look right off your face, and you’re more than horrified to see your uncle’s only daughter making her way over to you and your fiancé. She comes to stand before the two of you, curtsying deeply to the Supreme Leader and the Supreme Leader alone.

“Mila,” you say shortly, acknowledging her only because you have to. You hate to admit it, but she looks beautiful tonight, swathed in jewel tones and draped in gold. Mila’s always been a pretty girl, all sharp angles and big eyes in the way men seem to like, and what’s worse is that she knows it, too.

“You look nice, cousin,” Mila says, looking you and down with a look in her eyes that you know well. “Pink always was such an… _interesting_ color on you.”

Under different circumstances, your cousin’s snide remark would barely sting. But Kylo is beside you, and you flush with embarrassment at the thought of him witnessing Mila’s cruelty.

It’s as if she can read your mind.

“You look very handsome, Supreme Leader,” Mila husks, and though Kylo’s not _really_ your lover, something about her tone makes you want to cut out her tongue on the spot.

“Thank you,” Kylo says curtly, seemingly unimpressed by your cousin.

Having seen that Kylo has no interest in entertaining her advances, Mila begins scanning for other soft spots to jab her fingers into. Your engagement ring catches your cousin’s eye, and she snatches up your hand in hers.

“What a beautiful ring you have on, cousin!” Mila exclaims, studying the stone with hungry eyes. She’s grinning like a wolf as she asks, “Won’t you let me try it on?”

Astoundingly, Mila actually goes to take your ring off your finger, not even giving you time to tell her no. You jerk your hand back, putting it on Kylo’s arm with the other one to protect your jewelry.

“No, Mila, you can’t try on my engagement ring,” you tell her, in disbelief that she’s acting this way. Your cousin’s always been a menace, but in front of the _Supreme Leader_? Your _fiancé?_ Has she gone mad?

Mila laughs lightly, unphased. “It wouldn’t fit me anyway,” she says, looking at Kylo as she speaks. “My cousin always did have the chubbiest little fingers.”

Her smile is bright, but there’s cruelty in her eyes. Thankfully, Mila leaves the both of you alone after that, and you’re finally able to sit down.

“That’s your uncle’s child?” Kylo murmurs, helping you into your chair before he sits down himself.

“Yes,” you reply quietly, still incredibly embarrassed.

“Then let’s hope that her brothers are not as unbearable as she is.”

That has you turning quickly to meet your fiancé’s eyes, and though Kylo does not openly console you, the sympathy in his gaze is comfort enough.

“I’m afraid they’re worse,” you whisper, feeling bold now. “At least Mila’s intelligent.”

“Fantastic,” Kylo deadpans, and you snort as the food service begins.

\---

Wine flows as readily as conversation at the dinner table now, and you’re relieved to find yourself amongst so many fun, lively people. You feared that the Order officials would be boring or lacking in social skills, but they’re quite the opposite. Chancellor Hux is the stiffest of the bunch, but even he’s loosened up now after half a glass of wine.

The Supreme Leader doesn’t talk much, but when he does, he’s sure to include you in the conversation, readily explaining something whenever you ask a question. And boy, do you have so many! It’s dizzying, trying to get a handle on what the Order does and does not control, where their greatest interests lie. In twenty minutes, you learn the name of three new planets and come to find out that the Order has found inhabitable moons in the Outer Rim.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to learn all of this,” you laugh at one point, having just incorrectly named the location of the Order’s Starkiller Base.

A man a few seats away shakes his head, making a flippant gesture with his glass of wine. “My wife’s been a High Admiral for fifteen years, and I still don’t know what the fuck she’s talking about sometimes. All you have to do is smile and act like you understand.”

“That’s because you don’t pay attention. At least she’s trying!” his wife chides, but she’s smiling as she rolls her eyes. “You’ll get it,” she assures, turning to you now.

“Says the woman who can draw maps of the galaxy from memory,” her husband teases, smiling broadly when his wife bats him on the arm.

You take another sip of your wine, flush with drink and elation at the feeling of being included by those around you. The Chancellor asks you a rather analytical question about your planet’s trade structure, and you’re more than happy to discuss the matter with him. That strikes up a conversation regarding your planet as a whole, and where you were born. You talk about your mother and growing up outside the palace before her death, and your fiancé and the others listen intently.

“What are you talking about down there, cousin?” calls a male voice from down the table, and you look that way to see Sebastian gazing at you with a rather smug expression on his face. Your stomach drops at the sight of him and his siblings, for they all look like predators on the scent of a kill. Still, you square your shoulders and answer him, keenly aware that you now have the attention of the table.

“My mother,” you reply curtly, voice even and calm. To your left, you see your ladies sit up in their chairs, defensive— they know what’s coming as well as you do.

“Why don’t you tell your new friends about your father?” Tensin suggests. Sebastian snickers at the mention of the subject, and Mila is entirely too pleased with the both of them. To your horror, your uncle does nothing to quiet his children, only watches on.

“My mother and father were never married,” you admit, choosing your words carefully. You throw a cautious glace Kylo’s way, anxiety spiking as you observe his unreadable expression.

“Come now, cousin, let’s not split hairs,” Tensin drawls. “You don’t even know who your father is.”

No one says anything for a moment, and you refuse to look anybody in the eye. It’s true, what your cousin’s said— your mother became pregnant with you after a fling, and while you’re sure that _she_ knew your father’s identity, she never got the chance to reveal who he was to you before she died. It’s shameful on your planet, being an illegitimate child, and you feel mortified to have such a thing come out at the dinner table in front of strangers.

Beside you, Kylo shifts in his chair, and it seems as if he’s going to speak. But Chancellor Hux cuts him off, face hard as he asks, “Do you have a point, Prince Tensin?” You can tell by the set of the Chancellor’s mouth that he does not appreciate your cousins’ behavior at all, though you don’t get your hopes up.

Not one of your relatives provides an answer, and it gives you a sick sort of pleasure to watch as they begin to squirm in their chairs. Your uncle, a much more seasoned bullshitter, schools his face, but you can see the sweat beading on his brow.

“Because I would hope that you do,” Chancellor Hux continues. “You see, you may take our lack of reaction to what you’ve just implied as an indicator of indifference or disgust, but you would be mistaken in doing so.”

The Chancellor pauses again, perhaps waiting for a member of your family to say something. Still, they sit silent.

“I am my father’s bastard,” Hux spits, rage seeping into his voice now. “And I am not the only one at this table who comes from such a lineage. Two of the admirals before you are orphans from backwater planets, and General Hayden was born in a brothel.”

“I grew up there, too,” a man calls from down the table, not at all ashamed, and you presume him to be the general that Hux spoke of. He gives you a sympathetic look, and you’re eternally grateful.

“So you see,” the Chancellor explains, “your little jab at your cousin only makes _you_ look bad. The identity of the Princess’s father means nothing to me, or to anyone else you see before you. If you’re trying to cast shame on her, it’s not going to work.”

Mila finally opens her mouth, trying to smooth things over. “We were just talking, Chancellor. My brothers meant nothing by their comments.”

“Yes, they did,” Hux cuts, glaring at Mila directly now. “And don’t act so innocent, Princess. I saw you when the Supreme Leader and your cousin came in. You were throwing yourself at him and yet again trying to embarrass her. Maybe if you weren’t so insufferable, the Supreme Leader would have chosen to marry you instead.”

General Hux shakes his head, openly disgusted with the three of them now. “ _Spiteful children_. You have no idea what you’re doing, have no idea how lucky you are. I do not profess to know the Supreme Leader’s private thoughts and feelings in this moment, but I have seen him gut people for less.”

That has Sebastian and Tensin looking nervous, and even your uncle and Mila shift timidly in their chairs.

“However, his temper has improved in recent months, and I believe that he is trying to make a good impression on your cousin and her friends. But,” the Chancellor amends, “if I were you, I would leave the table, lest you find yourselves without _tongues_.”

The threat is enough to send Sebastian, Mila, and Tensin out of the room, and you’re happy to see them go. Chancellor Hux turns his angry stare on your uncle next, and you cannot believe that the man is still sitting there.

“Why don’t you go with your children, Your Majesty?” It’s phrased like a question, but you an hear the command in the Chancellor’s tone. Your uncle looks around the room for a moment, taking in all the unfriendly faces around him.

“Goodnight,” he says, rather subdued as takes off after his children.

The room is completely silent after your family has left, and you can feel everyone’s eyes on you. You know that you should say something, and you hope that Kylo might speak as well, but neither one of you gets the chance.

“Thank the stars,” Helda declares, unusually bold. “I’ve always hated those black-hearted, spoiled cretins.”

That comment earns Helda a few amused chuckles, and you think that even the Supreme Leader cracks a smile. You gape at your friend, shocked beyond belief at her behavior. Lydia must be horrified too, because she peers at Helda around Joon’s body.

“Helda, what- Who let you drink _wine_?” Lyida hisses. It’s then that you notice the flush on Helda’s cheeks, the looseness of her smile— Helda is _drunk!_

You can’t help but laugh at you watch Lydia try to wrestle Helda’s wine glass away from her place setting, scolding Joon for not helping all the while. All the tension has left the room now, and everyone is thoroughly enjoying the display before them.

“You’ve had enough,” Lydia tells Helda, but an officer at the end of the table disagrees.

“Give her another glass!” she commands. “This is the most rousing commentary I’ve heard around a dinner table in a long time!”

While you find what’s going on very funny, you still can’t help but feel incredibly upset by your cousins’ cruelty and your uncle’s indifference.

“I’m not close to my family either.”

Kylo’s voice is soft in your ear, and the way his breath tickles your neck makes heat prickle down your back. You turn your head towards him, unsure of what to say to that. Thankfully, he’s not expecting a reply.

“It’s okay,” your fiancé whispers, and then the both of you go back to talking with the group.

\---

You spend your final night as an unmarried woman walking along the beach. The waves lap at your feet and ankles as you breathe in the salty air, a fistful of your nightgown in one hand. Pausing on the sand, you turn your face towards the stars, studying how they make patterns and pictures in the sky. This time tomorrow, you’ll be amongst all of these twinkling balls of flame, spending your first night in Kylo Ren’s bed.

Closing your eyes against the moonlight, you whisk away thoughts of your husband and your marital bed, trying to center yourself one last time before you go to sleep.


	6. VI

You rise early on the morning of your wedding, too anxious to lie in bed any longer as you watch the sun creep up in the sky. It’ll be hours before it’s time for you to get dressed, and you know good and well that your ladies are still fast asleep. Lydia’s never been a morning person, Joon stayed up late playing cards, and Helda had to be practically poured into her bed by the time dinner ended. It looks like it’ll just be you for a while, so you start hunting for ways to occupy your time. Nervous energy thrums through your entire body, and you’re plagued with the urge to pace about the room until your legs give out. You decide that a walk on the beach might do you good instead, so you set out on the sand, not bothering to change out of your nightgown.

The morning sun is gentle and warm on your back as you walk along the shore, letting the salty water of the ocean lave over your feet as you did last night. _This place really is paradise,_ you think wistfully, smiling to yourself as you observe some marine life further out. The creatures jump out of the water together, seemingly playing a game of chase, and you consider the event a good omen.

A bit less anxious after some time outside, you head back up to your rooms, glad to see that a breakfast buffet of sorts has been laid out for you in your absence. It’s far too much food for you to eat alone, but you figure that the resort staff has considered the fact that your ladies may come to eat with you as well. You nibble on some fruit and a pastry, unable to eat much because of your remaining jitters.

You’re salty and windswept from being out by the water, and though no one is here to help you, you decide to take a bath anyway. It ends up being nice, soaking in the warm water alone as you languidly wash and cleanse your body. Though bathing does help you relax a little bit, you still can’t help but think of what’s to come as you exfoliate. You’ll be a married woman in just a few hours’ time, and tonight, you’ll retire to your marital bed with your _husband_. Surely the Supreme Leader is expecting that the two of you will lie together, and the mere notion of that makes your heart pound. You feel totally helpless, lacking in sexual experience of any kind, and you fear that you won’t be able to please him. Both Lydia and Joon have said that it’s not that difficult to make a man happy in bed, but you’re still incredibly unsure of yourself. So, to compensate, you’ve decided that it would be best for you to make your body as soft and appealing as possible. You may not know what to do with your body, but you would die if Kylo lost interest in you simply because he ran his hands over a patch of scratchy dry skin.

Out of the tub, your crusade to make yourself appealing continues. You slather yourself in lotion and moisturizer, the action bordering on obsessive. At the end of it all, every inch of your body is silky and soft, and that makes you feel just the slightest bit more confident.

You snack on some more food after you’re done bathing, munching on fruit and toast until your ladies finally come stumbling into your chambers. Helda complains of a headache, calling the rest of you cruel when you snicker her hangover. Your ladies graze on the spread that was laid out for you earlier, practically force-feeding Helda toast and fruit so that she’ll feel a bit better. You nibble on some cheese and berries, eating because you know you need to— passing out in the middle of your own wedding would be too mortifying to bear.

Finally, the time comes for the lot of you to begin getting dressed. As always, Lydia does everyone’s hair, making quick work of styling Joon, Helda, and herself before she sits you down in the chair. Lydia is much more deliberate in her work with you, twisting and combing your hair carefully, pinning with purpose and a strategic touch. When she’s finished with you, your hair is sleek and elegant, drawn into an intricate knot at the back of you head. It’s so different from your usual loose, carefree hairdos, and you touch the it lightly, experimentally.

Lydia must mistake the gesture for one indicative of a disliking for what she’s done. “I thought it would look rather pretty with your dress. You said that they’re going to call you ‘Empress,’ and I thought the look would complement your new title,” she tells you. “But if you don’t like it, there’s plenty of time for me to start over.”

“No,” you say quickly, not wanting her to remove a single hairpin, “no. I love it. I just… It just makes me feel different is all.”

You know what you’ve said is strange, but no one mentions it as Joon starts on everyone’s makeup. Like Lydia, she fixes up herself and the other ladies quickly, brushing on a few light washes of color and calling the whole thing done. With you, of course, she takes her time, working with her own face close to yours as she defines your features and paints you prettily. And stars Joon is a talented artist, for when she’s finished with your makeup, you look _radiant_. None of what she’s put on your face is heavy or overbearing, but every subtle highlight and shadow works together to make you look regal, sultry— you don’t think you’ve ever looked this good in your _life_.

“You’re a witch, Joon,” you state, unable to tear your eyes away from your reflection.

“Well, I just did my best,” Joon says with a humble shrug, but the little smile on her mouth tells you that she’s rather pleased with herself.

With your hair and makeup done, the time has come for you to get into your dress. Lydia and Joon steady you as you step into the garment, guiding your legs through the layers of fabric so that you don’t tear your train by accident. Helda’s the one who really dresses you, though, working diligently behind your back to fasten up the dozens of little buttons that run down your spine. She has the smallest hands out of all of you, and the girl has always had a talent for tedious tasks such as this one.

After a few short minutes, Helda steps back pronouncing you dressed. Everyone is quiet for a moment after she says this, studying you in the mirror.

“Well,” Joon says softly, “I guess that’s that.”

You aren’t sure what she means, but you understand nonetheless.

“You look beautiful, Princess,” Lydia declares.

“A real vision,” Joon adds quickly, and Helda nods.

“Thank you,” you say, distracted by your own appearance.

One would think you vain, studying yourself so intently in the mirror, but it’s not your beauty that has you fixated. You hardly recognize yourself like this, though you’ve gotten dressed up for many events in the past. But there’s something different about this time, something different about _you_. You look like a _queen_ instead of a princess, like a woman who commands attention.

“Thank you,” you repeat, “thank you all. I look incredible, really.”

“He’s going to die when he sees you,” Lydia affirms, coming to take your hands. Joon and Helda clasp their palms over Lydia fingers, smiling up at you with a tinge of sadness. Suddenly, you realize that this is it, this is the last time that you’ll all be together in this way.

“It’s been an honor to serve you, Princess,” Helda tells you, and you try your very hardest to blink the tears out of your eyes. It wouldn’t do to ruin Joon’s work, not when the wedding is coming so quickly.

“It’s been an honor to be served by all of _you_ ,” you say, talking around a lump in your throat. You break into a tearful smile, looking a Joon, Helda, and Lydia in turn.

There’s so much more that you want to say, but you don’t get the chance. A knock at the door breaks your moment, and you know immediately that it’s your escort come to retrieve you.

“I have to go,” you say quickly, stepping away from the mirror. Joon tails you to the door, straightening the train of your gown and checking your hair one last time.

And with that, you’re gone, off to become a married woman.

\---

Your wedding ceremony feels like a dream. All you can really remember of it is faces, the faces of the guests as they watched you walk down the aisle, the face of the officiant, Kylo’s face as he recited his vows to you. Kylo’s face, and the warmth of his hands, and the quick kiss that the two of you shared once you were pronounced husband and wife. Everything else, though, that’s a complete blur. You don’t remember your vows, or what instruments were played as you walked in, or even what Kylo said as he promised himself to you.

You and your husband are whisked to the reception almost immediately, though you are pulled into a side room for photographs. A woman dressed in plain, official clothes poses you and Kylo stiffly, snapping pictures of you smiling and not smiling, of you seated and not seated. Your husband doesn’t speak to you during any of this, and you’re thankful— you don’t think you could form a coherent sentence right now if you tried, too overwhelmed by everything that’s just happened.

The reception is indoor/outdoor, set in a richly decorated hall with a terrace and access to the beach. You and Kylo are greeted with cheers and applause, and the noise of it all is loud enough to make the building shudder. Before you can so much as catch your breath and get your bearings, Kylo’s taking you aside to a receiving area. Two members of the Imperial Guard stand behind you and your husband, supervising guests that come to talk to both of you. Person after person, couple after couple approach where you’re seated, all of them congratulating you warmly. Kylo already knows most of the people that come your way, but your head is swimming with new names and faces. By the time the line clears, you feel like you’ve just downed a bottle of strong wine.

Kylo gives you his arm when the two of you get ready to leave the receiving area, and you’re happy to have something solid to lean on. Your head thrums with a dull ache, and you find yourself wishing you had eaten more earlier. And of course, your mind spirals with thoughts of all of the interactions you’ve just had, thoughts of all the important people you just met. Anxious, you hope that you made a good impression, thinking of how Kylo said he needed a “second face” for the Order. And that would be just your luck, wouldn’t it, fucking up your new job on the very first night?

“You’re doing very well,” your husband whispers suddenly, and his words send a chill down your back. In your nervous tizzy, you forgot completely that the Supreme Leader can easily read your mind, and your heart pounds at the thought of him knowing how anxious you are.

Your shock and fear must show on your face because the look in Kylo’s eyes softens to something more apologetic. “You are,” he presses, and you can see that he means it. Kylo’s compliment instills you with just a little more confidence, and you straighten your back, grabbing on a little tighter to his arm as the two of you go walking about the room.

Finally, it comes time to eat. The sun is slipping down as everyone moves to their seats, and you’re grateful to sit down. Kylo helps you into your chair before moving to sit down himself, an unexpected gesture that you find rather sweet.

“I’m starving,” you tell him, just to make polite conversation. You and Kylo haven’t talked much since the two of you wed, more focused on entertaining guests than anything else. Kylo turns to look at you, to _really_ look at you. You’re not sure if you’re doing a poor job of schooling your expression or if Kylo can simply sense your feelings, but he somehow knows that you’re overwhelmed nonetheless.

“The hard part is over,” he says to you seriously, speaking quietly so that only you can hear him. “We get to relax now.”

You’re not sure that Kylo Ren’s ever relaxed in his life, but you decide to take his word for it regardless. Before you can say anything else, two servants approach the both of you from behind, setting your food down in front of you without a word. When everyone’s been served, Kylo stands, and a hush falls over the room.

“Friends,” he declares, “allies. I thank you all for being here tonight to witness this union between myself and your Empress.”

Your pulse quickens at his use of your new title, but you try to paint a pleasant expression on your face as you watch your husband speak.

“Tonight marks an auspicious new beginning for the Order. I believe that with the Empress’s help, we will be able to expand our organization and bring even more prosperity and stability to the galaxy.”

Thunderous applause erupt in the room, and it takes several seconds for everyone to quiet themselves. When things are silent again, your husband looks down at you, his goblet held aloft towards your guests. The look you see in his eyes escapes description, but you cannot help but feel that there is something akin to passion swirling behind his irises. Or maybe it’s lust… You aren’t entirely sure.

“To the Empress,” calls the Supreme Leader.

“To the Empress!” echoes the room, and everyone drinks to the toast.

Kylo never breaks your gaze as he takes a long drag off of his glass, moving to sit down as he does so. You think that you should say something, anything, but every word dies right as it reaches your tongue.

Despite the nervous buzz in your veins, you eat ravenously, your need for food too strong to be ignored now. Kylo eats with as just much vigor, probably as hungry as you are. He drinks wine with his meal, but not to excess. You try to be as mindful of your alcohol consumption as well, thinking it would be best to be sober for tonight.

After dinner is cleared away, a band begins playing cheerful, fast music, and many of your guests flock to the center of the room to dance. You spot Helda, Lydia, and Joon amongst them, and your heart yearns to join your friends in their merrymaking.

“Do you dance?” you ask Kylo, turning to look at him. Your husband looks rather taken aback by the question, so you’re not surprised by his answer.

“No,” he says quickly, “not at all. I don’t find myself to be good at it.”

His answer deals you a crushing blow, and you settle your hands in your lap a bit solemnly. “Oh,” you say softly, trying to hide your sadness, “well that’s good to know.”

The look on Kylo’s face changes, becomes more nervous. “But you’re more than welcome to,” he blurts. “I mean, don’t let me hold you back.”

Under different circumstances, you would have been out on the floor already, but you feel obligated to stay with your husband. This _is_ your wedding, after all.

“Are you sure? I feel bad leaving you here by yourself,” you tell Kylo, but you’re already itching to join in the fray.

“Please,” Kylo affirms, and with that, you’re up and out of your seat.

Joon, Helda, and Lydia squeal when you find them out on the floor, all of them crushing you into a big hug all at once. It’s hard to hear them over the noise, but you manage to catch all of the compliments that they throw your way before the lot of you go galivanting across the dancefloor, twirling and spinning and jumping and holding hands with one another.

After a few songs, a young officer cuts in, asking shyly if Helda would like to dance. She accepts, and just as she goes to leave, Joon’s boyfriend comes and whisks her away as well. You and Lydia stand to the side of all the dancers now, panting and grinning, flushed with joy.

“Let’s get some air,” Lydia suggests, red in the face. Sweat beads at her hairline, and you’re sure that you’re in a similar state.

“And some water,” you add. Lydia nods in agreement, and then you’re turning around, trying to meet your husband’s eye. Your heart jumps a bit when you see that he’s already looking at you, but you don’t say anything, merely throwing your head Lydia’s way and pointing towards the doors that lead outside. He seems to understand what you mean, nodding calmly. You flash him a smile, and though Kylo doesn’t return the gesture, you like to think that you see softness in his eyes.

Someone’s taken the liberty of placing lights outside so that your wedding guests may enjoy the beach, even under the cover of darkness. You and Lydia manage to slip away from the crowd, glasses of water in hand as you traipse across the sand. As you move farther and farther away from the resort, everything grows darker, your path mostly lit by moonlight now.

“The Supreme Leader thinks that you make quite the pretty picture,” Lydia says to you, a fistful of her dress clutched in one hand. You roll your eyes at that, but you’re glad that it’s too dim for her to see you blushing.

“I would like to think so,” you murmur, thinking of how your husband looked at you as he gave his pre-dinner speech,

“Oh, you don’t have to think,” Lydia teases, “because I know for sure. He’s been staring at you all night long.”

The idea of that pleases you, but you try not to let it go to your head, giving Lydia a little shove as she laughs at you.

“I’m just saying that I don’t think you’ll have any trouble endearing yourself to him,” she says, still grinning. “He seems to think a lot of you already.”

“I know.” You’re still murmuring, shy under Lydia’s suggestions.

After a few seconds of companionable silence, Lydia suddenly stops short, turning to look at you. She’s thrown into shadow, almost featureless under the light of the moon, and the way she’s holding herself is strange. Before you can ask her what’s wrong, she speaks.

“Still,” your friend states, “it’s not too late to back out.” Only now do you realize how far away you are from the resort, how alone the both of you are.

You stare at her for a moment, raising your chin appraisingly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Lydia says, taking a step closer, “that this stretch of beach goes all the way out to a bit of untamed, uninhabited land. If we kept walking, it would take some time before someone came looking for us. We could be anywhere by then.”

Coming from anyone else, her suggestion would be appalling. But this is _Lydia_ , and you know what happened to her when she got married.

“I’ll be just fine, Lydia,” you say quickly, reaching out to caress her arm. “Thank you. Thank you for thinking of me like that. Thank you for being willing to stick your neck out. But you don’t have to. I can handle myself. I’m going to be okay, I promise.”

And really, you think that you will be. The Supreme Leader does not seem so terrible, and you feel like you could figure all of this out if you try hard enough.

Lydia gazes at you for a moment, and then she reaches out to squeeze your hand. “If you ever want to leave, all you have to do is contact me. I’ll figure out a way to rescue you, no matter where you are or who you’re with. I’m not afraid of any of those people.”

Your friend could be executed for treason if anyone heard her talking like this. You cannot believe how fortunate you are to have someone that loves you so much.

“I’ll be fine,” you reiterate, squeezing Lydia’s hand even harder than she squeezed yours.

\---

Back inside, you say goodbye to your friends. It’s bittersweet, exchanging hugs with all of them, aware that you won’t be seeing them for quite some time. But none of you cry too blatantly in front of the other guests, so you consider the whole thing a success.

You go back to your husband, plopping down into your chair tiredly. Your feet ache, and wisps of hair have come loose form your updo.

“Did you enjoy dancing?” Kylo asks you lightly, eyes flitting to where your hand tucks a piece of your hair back into place. You smile is weak but still very bright.

“Oh yes,” you say, laughing airily. “I’m exhausted now, though.”

“If you’re tired, I can have a group of guards take you back to the ship,” Kylo offers, and you cannot help but feel that he’s nervous to be speaking to you like this. His gloved hands fidget, eyes darting away from your face for just a moment.

You’re taken aback by this, having not thought of your wedding night for hours now. Though your initial impulse is to decline, you see that it’s growing late. You have to do this eventually, you know that, so you might as well rip the bandage off now.

“Yes,” you say, “that would be all right with me. Are you coming along as well, or…?”

“No,” Kylo says quickly, folding his hands in his lap. “I thought you would like a moment to yourself. You can go now, and I’ll follow shortly.”

You only nod at that, but you’re glad to see that Kylo’s feeling just as shy about all of this. Still, he steels expression as he motions to two imperial guards, blunt and commanding as he orders them to take you to your transport vessel. The two guards do so wordlessly, not speaking to you or even to the Supreme Leader as they escort you out of the room.

You’re loaded onto a small, light aircraft manned by only a single pilot. The guards climb aboard as well, sitting across from you with their weapons at the ready. You get the feeling that they’re there to protect you more than they are to intimidate you, but you find them off-putting anyway. You’ve always known stormtroopers to be friendly and sociable, but you assume that members of the Imperial Guard are held to a higher standard, that they’re people of a different breed. Still, you think that they could stand to say or do _something_ to make them seem a bit more human.

The Supremacy is the biggest craft you’ve ever seen, a virtual city floating out in the blackness of space. As your vessel lands on one of the ship’s many decks, you wonder how you’ll ever find your way around this place, already panicked by the notion of getting lost onboard. Still, you try to keep your cool as you disembark, thanking your pilot and the guards graciously.

A small party is waiting for you upon landing, just a couple of stormtroopers and a woman who displays no insignia or rank of any kind. She’s older, old enough to be someone’s mother, and she wears her graying hair in a tight, slick knot at the nape of her neck. Dressed in shapeless black clothing, one might find this woman unremarkable at first glance.

“Empress,” she says, curtsying deeply. The stormtroopers also bow, acknowledging your arrival. “My name is Miriam. I am here to serve you.”


	7. VII

Miriam leads you through the Supremacy to the Supreme Leader’s quarters, striding confidently through corridor after corridor, passage after passage— and all without a map! You have no idea how she does it, taking you about without directions, and you can only pray to be as skilled as her one day. Every hall that the two of you pass through is empty, save for the odd pair of stormtroopers. It feels too quiet on the ship, almost eerie, so you try to make conversation with your new attendant, just to hear something other than footsteps.

As it would turn out, Miriam is more than willing to talk with you.

“The Supreme Leader thought it prudent to find you a personal servant before you arrived,” Miriam explains after you ask how she came to hold her position. “I’ve served many prominent officials and their families, both within the Order and outside of it. I hope you will find my service to be satisfactory.”

“I’m sure you’ll be lovely,” you tell Miriam, unsure of what to think of her at the moment. She seems very confident, very sure of herself, which you definitely like. You can already tell that she’s a woman who doesn’t like nonsense, and you sense an inclination towards detail and precision. Despite this, though, there’s something vaguely maternal about her demeanor, an underlying softness that hides behind her bluntness. She reminds you almost of Lydia if Lydia wasn’t so melancholically serious all the time.

When the two of you reach your destination, Miriam steps aside so that you may enter first. The blastdoor slides open almost without a sound, revealing to you a set of large, spacious rooms. Everything is done in black and red with the occasional white accent, and you don’t see many decorations. There’s no personal affects anywhere, really, save for a few things on one dresser.

“Your belongings were brought here and put away for you already, but the Supreme Leader has assured me that you can rearrange them however you’d like,” Miriam tells you, standing expectantly in the sitting room as you go to explore.

There’s a dining area off to one side in the same space as the sofa, chairs, and coffee table, but the bedroom is separated from this more public area by a dividing wall. There’s dressers covering almost one whole wall in the bedroom, though you see two doors on the other side of the room that must lead to the ‘fresher and possibly a closet. A bit of poking around confirms your suspicions, and you find all of your dresses hung up neatly across from rows and rows of black pants and shirts, clothes that no doubt belong to your husband.

Satisfied for now, you shut the closet door, coming back to stand in the bedroom. The pillows and comforter on the bed are black, of course, appearing to be rather soft. Despite this, the site of your marital bed still turns your stomach, so much so that you go scurrying back to Miriam for safety.

“I wish to change,” you tell her immediately, already pulling at the high collar of your gown. Maybe it’s because you looked at the bed, but you suddenly feel confined in your wedding clothes, almost like they’re restricting your breathing.

“Of course,” Miriam affirms, guiding you into the ‘fresher at once.

Like everything else in Kylo’s quarters, this room is also done in shades of black and red. There, Miriam gets to work on picking apart the many buttons and stays keeping you caged in your wedding dress, pulling and pushing with nimble fingers until you feel cool air on your back. Being undressed is comforting, and you feel like you can breathe again after a few seconds.

Any hang ups you had about Miriam seeing you naked dissipate quickly, trumped by your nerves. You stand before the sink, naked as you scrub off the makeup that Joon so meticulously applied to your face all those hours ago.

“I can help you bathe before the Supreme Leader returns, if you wish,” Miriam offers, standing by the large, deep bathtub that sits in the center of the room.

Your first inclination is to say no, but then you think of how much you’ve exerted yourself since you bathed this morning. “Don’t get my hair wet,” you tell Miriam, and she starts the water without being prompted.

Miriam makes quick work of getting you clean, but you insist on taking your time as you scrub you exfoliate your body yet again, still bent on being as soft and supple as possible. Your attendant stands by diligently, allowing you to complete your ritual without a word.

Once you’ve applied your usual skincare and lotion, it comes time for you to choose a nightgown. You find that you have so many to choose from, almost too many, and you’re already cloudy mind is overwhelmed by all of the options.

“Do you like this one?” you ask Miriam, holding up a red gown for her to inspect. The garment is floor-length with small sleeves, decorated prettily with ribbons all along the neck and hem. With a keen eye, Miriam inspects the fabric, moving to loosen the lacing on the front of the nightgown so you may put it on.

“I would like you in it if you were my wife,” your attendant says casually, careful not to pull your hair loose as she helps you slip the gown over your head.

Once you’re dressed, Miriam asks if you’d like for her to take down your hair. You say yes, thinking that it might be best to have it loose as you go to bed with your husband, and Miriam does as you say, pulling at the pins that Lydia put in your hair what feels like a lifetime ago. When she’s finished, your hair falls around your shoulders, bouncy and full of volume from being styled. Carefully, you study your appearance— all things considered, you think you look rather pretty.

With her work done, Miriam prepares to leave. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Empress?” she asks, waiting patiently to be dismissed. Though you don’t want her to do, you can think of nothing else for Miriam to do.

“No,” you tell her, “thank you. You may go now.”

Miriam curtsies and goes to take her leave, moving slowly as she goes to the door. Halfway out of the room, she turns back to face you.

“Empress, if I may be so bold,” she calls, folding her hands in front of her.

“Yes?” you ask, fidgeting with the skirt of your nightgown. You know that Kylo could be here any minute, and that fact makes your breath quicken.

“I know it’s hard,” Miriam says slowly, “but you must relax. Everything will be better if you relax.”

And there it is, that maternal slant you sensed earlier.

“Thank you,” you say softly. Miriam nods, and then she’s off without another word.

Jittery and alone, you contemplate what you should do now to prepare for Kylo’s arrival. Should you be in bed when he comes? Maybe, but you don’t feel comfortable just getting under the covers like that. Miriam says that you’re free to do what you like in this space, but you still feel like you’re poking around in a stranger’s home. You could wait for him on the sofa or at the dining table, but that feels entirely too casual and entirely too formal all at the same time. Overwhelmed, you simply decide to perch yourself on the edge of the bed, thinking that your husband will likely want you there anyway.

It’s a good thing you settle yourself quickly, because Kylo comes through the door not long after you sit down. His heavy boots thud across the floor, making quite a racket in the otherwise quiet room, and you try to straighten your back and look pleasant before he can lay eyes on you.

Kylo stops short once he catches sight of you, pausing in the doorway of the bedroom. You can’t help but feel a bit flustered as he takes in the image of you dressed for bed, eyes flitting quickly over your body and then back up to your face.

“Hi,” you say shyly, trying to break the tension. Kylo finally takes a step into the room now, walking past you to stand before one of the dressers on the far wall.

“How was your journey?” your husband asks, casual. You watch him carefully as he removes his gloves and sets his lightsaber down on the furniture, making note of how he puts his things in their place immediately. Neat and orderly— you’re not surprised.

“It was good,” you say lightly, not wanting to sound as frightened as you feel. You’re not afraid of Kylo so much as you’re fearful of what’s to come. You’re afraid of being uncomfortable, afraid of being in pain. And stars, the thought of your husband seeing your body really has your heart palpitating. He’s shared his bed with many, many beautiful women, you’re sure of it— and you’re also sure that you’ll pale in comparison.

Kylo nods at what you’ve said, seemingly satisfied as he rummages through a drawer. Tucking what seems to be a change of clothes under his arm, he says, “I’ll be just a moment,” before ducking into the ‘fresher. You tilt your head in acknowledgement of this, smiling as sweetly as you can as he goes to leave the room. The shower cuts on a few seconds after the door slides shut behind your husband, and you wait patiently for him to return.

You don’t move a muscle while the Supreme Leader is gone, staying put on the bed. As you sit there, you take a few deep breaths, trying to relax as Joon, and Lydia, and Miriam, and just about everyone else in the galaxy has told you to do. And it does help, the breathing, right up until Kylo comes striding back out of the ‘fresher, barefoot and dressed in soft, loose clothes. You have an idle thought about how calming yourself own might be a more manageable task if your husband weren’t so _fucking handsome_.

“I apologize for keeping you,” Kylo says, coming to stand before you. You shake your head quickly, distracted by the little tendrils of damp hair that curl at his temples and neck.

“No, no, it’s all right,” you tell him, trying to appear as pleasant as possible. You’re sure that Kylo can sense how nervous you are, with or without his powers, but you would sooner die before you would act like a scared child in front of this man.

Neither one of you says anything for a moment after that, simply sneaking hesitant looks at one another in an uncomfortable silence. It sets your teeth on edge, all of this waiting, all of this thinking, and you wish Kylo would just _do_ something already.

Maybe he hears that, because Kylo speaks not one second after the thought crosses your mind.

“May I ask you a personal question?” your husband asks. You nod. “Have you ever been with a man before?”

A wave of heat shoots up your neck, and you feel as though you might pass out there and then. Your first impulse is to lie, to say that you aren’t a virgin, but you know that fibbing will only hurt you in the long run. “No,” you say quietly, unable to meet your husband’s eyes as you fidget with your fingers, “but I know that we must lie together tonight to make our marriage legitimate.”

Finally, you gather the courage to look up at Kylo. He peers down at you almost curiously, but of course he’s guarded like he always is, so hard to read that it’s almost infuriating. “ _We_ are the Supreme Leader and the Empress of the Known Galaxy,” Kylo tells you, stepping closer. “ _We_ don’t have to do anything that _we_ don’t feel comfortable doing.”

And stars does _that_ make your pulse quicken all over again, hearing your new title fall from his lips.

“But,” Kylo adds, “that being said, I would not be opposed to lying with you tonight, if that’s what you wish.” He reaches a hand out, stroking your cheek languidly with the back of his fingers, and you wonder if you should be ashamed of how it makes you shudder. The look in Kylo’s eyes is unmistakable now— _lust_.

“I- I…” You have such trouble finding the words, you struggle to make your thoughts into a coherent sentence. But finally, you get your tongue untangled. “I want to,” you say slowly, “but I’m frightened.”

And stars, you really _do_ want to let your husband to take you to bed. You want to feel his hands on your body, you want to put _your_ hands on _his_ body, you want to know what it’s like to be fucked. Your body trembles with anticipation, with a need to be stimulated.

“What are you afraid of?” Kylo asks patiently, still caressing your face. It’s so hard to speak, so hard to make your mouth form the correct words when you’re so focused on his touch, but you fight through it.

“I’m afraid it’s going to hurt,” you reply. “Will you be gentle with me, please?”

Kylo moves his hand, cupping your cheek now. His thumb strokes slowly over your skin, comforting and sweet, and you press into his palm without restraint. You don’t care how desperate you seem, how touch-starved— it is so _wonderful_ to be shown affection like this, so joyous.

“Of course,” Kylo says softly, and then he’s kissing you, licking into your mouth in a way that makes you moan in the back of your throat. You’ve been kissed before, of course, but Kylo is _exceptionally_ good, and the slide of his mouth against yours makes you almost lightheaded.

You let your husband lay you out on the bed, sliding up the hem of your nightgown so he can get a good grip on your thigh and hook your leg around his middle. Emboldened by this Kylo’s forwardness, you run your own hands down his back, exploring his body just because you can. Every bit of your husband is solid and strong, broad and unyielding, and you feel so deliciously tiny and fragile underneath him. He showers you in kisses, pressing his lips against your mouth and neck as if he means to consume you. It’s rough sometimes, more tongue and teeth than lips, but every lick and bite makes your cunt twitch between your legs.

Finally, after several minutes, Kylo sits up, panting as his fingers reach for the lacing of your nightgown. He’s gorgeous, almost obscenely so, with kiss-bitten lips and a pretty flush bleeding all the way down his neck. You let him undress you, though your stomach flutters at the idea of being naked in front of him.

“Are you not wearing anything under this?” Kylo asks. He’s got your nightgown halfway up your body now, a fistful of crimson in each hand even as he pauses to speak to you.

“No,” you say softly, “I… I didn’t think it was worth it, considering that you’d just take it all off me anyway.”

Somehow, this statement seems to only further stoke Kylo’s desire for you. The look in his eyes becomes absolutely predatory as he slips your nightgown over your head, so much so that it may have frightened you under different circumstances. But no, in his bed, laid out underneath him, the intensity of Kylo’s gaze makes you just as hungry, just as wanton as he is.

Just as Kylo gets you naked, you’re already pulling at his clothes, itching to see his exposed skin for yourself. He helps you willingly, pulling his shirt over his head, rolling off of you for a moment to kick off his pants.

Your husband’s body is just as toned and muscular as you thought it would be, of course, but you hadn’t been expecting the rest. His skin is slashed and marred with scar tissue, ghosts of wounds that must have been deep, painful, and life-threatening. Just from looking at the front of his body, you can see that Kylo’s suffered four puncture wounds and three deep gashes, including the scar that splits his face.

“I can put my shirt back on,” your husband offers, and you assume then that your expression is doing little to hide your thoughts. You can tell that Kylo’s trying to be casual, but his tone reveals his feelings of insecurity. And that’s a strange thought, the _Supreme Leader_ having insecurities. Still, you suppose that he’s only human.

“No, please don’t,” you say quickly, reaching out to stroke Kylo’s cheek. “Really, they don’t bother me.”

And they don’t. More than anything, the sight of Kylo’s scars makes you want to kiss him and his marks until he doesn’t think that they’re ugly anymore. But you don’t know how to say that without sounding ridiculous, so you just clutch onto your husband tightly as he goes back to lavishing you with his affection.

Kylo’s got designs on more than just your neck and shoulders now, pressing wet kisses all across your breasts, down your arms and over the plane of your stomach. Lightheaded, all you can do is lie there as he worships you, trying not to moan too ridiculously in the meantime. Finally, it seems that Kylo is satisfied with his work on your body, coming back up to look you in the eyes.

“May I touch you?” he asks, and you’re so drunk off the buzz of all the new sensations that you almost remind your husband that he’s _been_ touching you (and that he’s more than welcome to continue doing so). But then your brain catches you, and you come to understand what he means.

“Oh,” you breathe, speaking lightly. “Yeah. I mean, yes, please.”

“Kiss me.” Kylo’s voice is commanding yet still very gentle, and you cannot help but do as he says, rushing to lean up and capture his lips.

Even though you’re absorbed in the press of Kylo’s mouth, you still flinch a bit when you feel his hand between your legs, his calloused palm tickling your most delicate skin. But then he kisses you harder, deeper, and his thumb begins rubbing the most wonderful, gentle circles on your clit, and all of your nerves seem to just melt away. Kylo’s touch has you mewling into his mouth, has you sighing and squirming beneath him. He looks pleased as he gazes down at you, speaking just inches away from your lips.

“Does that feel good?” he asks. Kylo knows perfectly well what he’s doing to you, and you’re possessed with the inclination to tease him for it… right up until he slides one of his fingers inside you. The sensation of it makes you gasp, but you’re most amazed by how you feel no pain as he does it.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Kylo grins, and you would slap him for being so cocky if the motion of his hand wasn’t so incredibly _divine_.

But just as soon as he begins, Kylo moves his hand away from your cunt, leaving you empty and desperate for just a bit more. You make the most pitiful little noise when he does it, almost pouting as you look to your husband for an explanation. You thought the two of you had been having such _fun_ —

“I want to fuck you,” he declares, and though Kylo’s been looking at you like you’re something to eat this entire time, only now does the desperation in his voice make you understand how badly you’re wanted. And though your heart skips a beat at the notion of actually having his cock inside you, you open your legs anyway, just as needy as Kylo is at this point.

Your husband is gentle and patient, moving slowly and carefully. It’s still uncomfortable regardless, and you find yourself pushing him away before he even has the chance to get the head of his dick inside you. And you feel so frustrated by that, so discouraged, because you’d been having such a wonderful time up until now.

“Are you all right?” Kylo asks, and though he’s being sweet, you can tell that he’s exercising an almost inhuman amount of self-control right about now.

“Yes, I just- I just…”

You don’t have the words to express how you’re feeling, nervous and flustered and hot with arousal all at the same time.

“Take a deep breath,” your husband tells you, resettling your legs to try again.

You do as Kylo says, drawing in a slow, cleansing breath. He tries to push into you again, urging you to breathe once more when your brows draw together in displeasure at the sensation. Still, you press on, sucking in another breath, and then one more.

You feel so _full_ when Kylo’s cock is finally inside you, full in a way that you didn’t know you could _be_ full. The uncomfortable sensation you felt passes quickly, giving way to one of excitement and relief. And stars does your husband look relieved as well himself, breathing deeply above you with dark, dark eyes.

“Tell me if you feel pain,” Kylo says to you, but the experimental twitch of his hips already has you gasping. You aren’t sure if what you’re feeling is pleasure yet, but it’s definitely _something_ , and you’re willing to find out where it will lead you.

Slowly, slowly, _slowly_ , Kylo picks up the pace, leaning down to kiss you as he rocks his hips with the utmost control and deliberation. You feel pain for just three more fleeting thrusts, and then Kylo does something with the angle of his body, and you forget your discomfort entirely, too overwhelmed to remember _anything_. The pleasure is different than what you felt when Kylo used his hands, but it’s no less enjoyable. And you like that he’s able to get off this way too, panting in your ear as he finally starts giving it to you.

You clutch onto Kylo, fisting your hand in his hair. One look down the long line of Kylo’s body offers you a view of more silvery scars, mangled skin that slash across his back. But for every scar, there’s about fifteen freckles on your husband’s broad shoulders, and you think idly that you should kiss every single one of them the next time the two of you make love like this.

The next time Kylo speaks to you, his voice is tight and strained. “Do you want to cum?” he asks, grunting from exertion as he continues to rock into you.

“What?” you say, mostly because your brain wasn’t ready to have a conversation at this very moment.

“Do you want to cum?” Kylo presses, more insistently this time, and you nod.

In an instant, Kylo has his hand between the two of you, rubbing circles on your clit like he did earlier. And stars does that make you moan, loud and unrestrained, because _fuck_. This was good the first time, but with Kylo’s cock pressing into you, it’s even better.

You’ve had an orgasm before, of course. You’ve gotten yourself off hundreds of times, touching yourself in bed almost every night for years now. But you can feel that this orgasm is going to be different even before it happens, stronger than anything you’ve ever done to yourself.

When it hits, you cry out, more from shock than anything else. Kylo fucks you through it, and then he’s cumming himself, groaning softly as his hips press right up against your body. Your eyes go wide at the sensation, the hot fluidity of your husband’s cum inside you even more foreign than the feeling of his cock in your body. The two of you lock eyes all the while, panting for breath.

“Fuck,” Kylo breathes, pushing his hair out of his face.

You can’t think of something to say, can’t _think_ period.

\---

Later, when the both of you are cleaned up and dressed again, you can’t help but feel a bit sheepish. Despite all that’s just happened, it’s not lost on you, how little you and Kylo know of one another, and that fact makes everything just a bit more strange as you go to climb into bed with him.

The room is rather dark after Kylo turns out the lights completely, and you’re thankful for the large pane of transperisteel that running along one wall. You climb under the thick, plush covers carefully, dressed in a warmer nightgown now. It’s so cold on this ship, you’ve noticed, but you chalk it up to the fact that you’re suspended in space’s icy expanse.

Kylo is rather quiet as he watched you get in bed, already lying down in the darkness. His bed is large, and you hesitate to get too close to your husband, unsure of how _intimate_ he really wants to be with you. Consummating your marriage is one thing, but otherwise…

It seems that your apprehension is pointless, however, because Kylo comes to lay right behind you as soon as you’re settled in bed, pulling you back against his chest with one strong arm.

“Are you all right?” he asks softly, breath tickling the back of your head.

“Oh, yes,” you reply, just as quiet, “I’m okay.”

“Good,” Kylo murmurs, seemingly satisfied with your answer. Your heart flutters when he presses a kiss to your crown, and you cannot help but press back against his body, content.

“You’ll be meeting with the Head of Charity tomorrow,” your husband tells you, and he sounds rather sleepy as he talks. “The Chancellor will introduce the two of you in the morning. He’s been working with her for some time now to try and lighten the workload, but I was hoping you could take over in his place.”

“I’ll try my best,” you say, a bit apprehensive. You’ve never done charity work at such a high level, but this is what Kylo brought you here to do. He said it himself that you’d be a good fit for the job, and you have to trust him on that, even if you’re unsure of yourself.

“I have the utmost confidence in you,” Kylo mumbles, kissing you softly once more.

As you look out at the stars that glitter before you, you hope that your husband’s trust is not misplaced.


	8. VIII

Miriam dresses you in the morning, rousing you from a cold, empty bed so that you may be ready on time to link up with the Chancellor. You feel a pang in your chest when you realize that Kylo’s not there, though you don’t let it hurt your feelings too badly. He’s a very busy man, your husband, and you assume that he’s got much to do today running the _galaxy_ and all.

The Chancellor greets you graciously in a main corridor, and you’re thankful to see a friendly face in a sea of stormtroopers, uniformed technicians, and other complete strangers. He begins leading you through the ship, the both of you flanked by members of the Imperial Guard. Once again, you find yourself impressed that he’s navigating the ship without a map or compass— you feel utterly lost already, and you’ve been walking about no more than five minutes.

“The Supreme Leader has told me that the people of your home planet adore you,” the Chancellor states, and though he’s being his serious self, you can tell he’s happy to be talking with you. You’re glad to be with a friend, glad to have an ally as you waltz into a new situation.

You flush under the praise, humbled— you had no idea that people spoke so highly of you at home. “I just try to be kind to everybody, no matter who they are.”

“Well it seems to work,” Hux says with a shrug. “I think you’ll be an excellent fit for this job, given your demeanor and manner of dealing with others. I will admit that myself and many other Order officials lack your gentle touch.”

“What about the Head of Charity?” you ask. You’re most nervous about meeting her, you think. She attended your wedding, but you never got the chance to speak past the casual hello. Still, the woman in question made quite the impression, dripping in gems as more than one handsome man nipped at her heels.

The Chancellor’s brows draw together, and he speaks as if he’s choosing his words carefully. “She’s… I think you’ll be able to handle her. Just don’t take anything that she says or does personally.”

You want to ask him what he means by that, but you don’t get the chance.

\---

The Head of Charity is just as striking as you remember, all sharp features and intense gray eyes. She looks almost like a bird you think, but not the kind that sits on a branch and makes sweet music as the sun rises. No, this woman is a predator, a raptor bathed in gems and precious metals. Every bit of her glitters, light glinting off her throat, wrists, fingers, and ears as she glides across the floor to greet you. Upon closer inspection, you realize that the Head of Charity is a bit older than you realized, lines crinkling in the corners of her mouth and eyes. Still, it’s as if her age only serves to enhance her beauty, and you think that you may have been a bit taken aback by this woman if you weren’t so keenly aware of how she’s been judging you since you walked in the room.

“Empress,” the Head of Charity greets, curtsying deeply as she comes to stand before you. Something about her tone and the look in her eyes makes you think that she may not have done such a thing if others were not present, and you get the vaguest sense that you’re being mocked in some way or another. Still, you are gracious and warm, smiling sweetly as you gaze out on the Chairwoman and the rest of the Board of Charitable Affairs.

“It is so lovely to meet you, Chairwoman, members of the Board,” you say, and already, you can pick out the little pets. There’s a handful of them around the table, and while they return your grin, the twist of their mouths is just the least bit suggestive of a sneer. Something’s already been said about you, that much is plain, but you let their ridiculing looks roll right off your back.

Thankfully, Chancellor Hux sticks around, seating himself next to you as the meeting begins. Introductions are made, and you try very hard to remember everyone’s names and faces, not wanting to give anybody the satisfaction of making you look like a fool later on. All eyes fall on you each time you ask a question, but Hux proves himself to be a great ally, always armed with an answer or an explanation. You already knew that the Order’s influence is vast and wide, but you come to understand that they truly do have their hand in e _very part_ of the known galaxy. Dozens of planets are discussed, and the charitable causes established on all of them tally into the hundreds. It’s a heavy workload to manage by anyone’s standards, and you understand at once why an entire team of people has been selected to oversee it all.

“I had no idea that the Order was so involved in charity,” you declare, awed by the sheer amount of money that the organization is shelling out for its colonies and possessions. You’re pleased to see such a difference being made, pleased to know that the First Order has no interest in simply conquering and pillaging anymore. You knew that Kylo changed much when he took the throne several years ago, but still, it’s flooring to hear what he’s done to help his people.

“Yes,” says the Head of Charity, “the Supreme Leader has always been quite insistent on spreading the Order’s wealth.” You don’t like the quirk of her mouth as she tells you this, don’t care for her tone. It’s almost as if she thinks your husband silly for spending all this money, for having all these schools and orphanages designed and built for the people under his rule. You cannot believe her attitude, yet you don’t say anything, unwilling to kick up a fuss so early on.

“The Supreme Leader,” Chancellor Hux elaborates, speaking directly to you, “wanted to change the galaxy’s opinion of the Order after the end of Snoke’s tyrannical rule. The first thing he did was end the kidnapping of children for the stormtrooper program, and then he established the Board of Charitable Affairs. Since then, he’s been insistent on improving the quality of life on every planet he makes an alliance with.”

The look in the Chancellor’s eyes would indicate that he doesn’t think much of the Head of Charity himself, though you must say that his subtlety is impressive. Something passes between yourself and Hux in that moment, an understanding of sorts, but you think it’s too quick for anyone else to catch.

The meeting only goes on for a bit longer, and you’re thrumming with excitement by the end of it. You still lack a bit of confidence in your ability to handle everything, but you can’t wait to start working on new efforts. The Order’s acquired several underprivileged planets in the last couple of weeks, and there’s much talk of benefits and fundraising events, of dedications and the completion of existing projects. Your head swims with ideas, though you don’t want to reveal any of them to the group just yet.

An official adjournment is called, and members of the board begin to file out of the room, leaving in groups of two and three. Chancellor Hux invites you to take lunch with himself and some other Order officials, and you accept the invitation happily.

As the two of you go to leave, the Head of Charity calls out to you. She practically floats instead of walking, coming to stand before you. Her smile is catlike, and you catch a subtle glint in her eye as she speaks. “I just wanted to say that I so look forward to working with you,” the woman gushes, her admiration entirely fake. Stars she reminds you of your aunt, of Mila. They’re all the same kind of woman, power-hungry and cold to the core.

“My sentiments are the same, Chairwoman,” you reply, throwing her put-on sincerity back in her face. The Chairwoman knows what you’re doing, but her confidence doesn’t falter for long.

“Please, call me Evan,” she insists. This is a blatant ploy to draw you in closer, but you can’t decide if she’s being transparent on purpose or if she really is a terrible actor.

Your smile is sickeningly sweet. “Evan it is, then.”

But you do not give this woman permission to call you by your given name, and you would sooner die than do so… A fact that obviously gets under _Evan’s_ skin. There is a pause, and then the Chairwoman reaches out to tuck a loose piece of hair back behind your ear. It’s a ballsy move, seeing that you’re flanked on all sides by Imperial Guards. “If I may be so bold, Empress— I must say that you are a very beautiful girl… by the standards of your little planet.”

It’s her most cutting remark yet, and the most overtly aggressive, but you’ve had worse said to you over a casual breakfast. Still, you cannot believe her brazenness.

“Thank you, Evan,” you reply, acting as if you’re genuinely touched. The Chairwoman gives you a long look before bidding yourself and Hux a good day, and then she’s gone, floating out of the room in a quiet huff.

You and the Chancellor watch Evan go, waiting for the coast to clear before you speak.

“What an awful woman,” you declare, laughing at the Chairwoman’s audacity. Never before have you seen someone so insanely brave!

“That was outstanding, Empress,” Chancellor Hux breathes, genuinely impressed as the two of you finally make your exit. “I’ve never seen _anyone_ manage to ruffle her feathers like you just did.”

You roll your eyes, waving a hand flippantly through the air. “Oh please, I know all of her tricks the way I know the back of my hand. She’s just like my aunt was, always trying to cut someone else down for her own amusement.” Scoffing, you add, “If she wants to make me squirm, she’s going to have to do better than that.”

Chancellor Hux is amused by what you’ve said, and it’s nice to hear him laugh for once. Like Kylo, your new friend suffers from an eternally serious demeanor.

You turn to him in disbelief. “How did she even get this job? Don’t tell me she treats other diplomats and galaxy leaders that way.”

The Chancellor shakes his head, resigned. “She’s a shapeshifter,” he tells you simply. “She knows all the right people, and she has a way of bending them to her will. You would think she was a different person when she’s at galas and benefits, the very epitome of a selflessness.” He rolls his eyes as he says this, obviously thinking back on something specific.

“Surely Kylo doesn’t like her,” you declare, unable to fathom a man like your husband finding friendship with a woman like that.

“No, of course not,” Hux affirms. “But she brings in big donations from outside the Order, and she’s strengthened a couple of important alliances using her own… _methods_.”

The look of disgust on your friend’s face is evident, and you decide it best not to ask.

“A necessary evil,” you conclude, and the Chancellor confirms this with a nod.

“But,” he amends, “I think the Supreme Leader would be happy to push her out if someone better came along.” Hux looks at you directly now. “In a few months’ time, after you’ve sharpened your skills and gained a bit of knowledge, I think we can be rid of her.”

“Kylo told me that he wants me to replace _you_.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, you realize how that sounds. “I mean, at least that’s what he suggested. He says that he needs you for—"

Hux cuts you off with a wave of his hand, smiling slyly. “That’s what he _said_ , yes, but—”

You catch on immediately, cutting him off now yourself. “But that’s not the real plan. The both of you want to be rid of Evan, but you told me differently so I wouldn’t blow your cover.”

Under different circumstances, such a deception may have hurt your feelings. However, you get it— your ignorance of the situation only helped you during the meeting, and you’re sure that Kylo and Hux wanted to feel out your real opinion of the Chairwoman before they let you in on their little secret. You tell the Chancellor as much, and his expression slowly shifts into a satisfied grin.

“We’ll make a politician out of you yet, Empress,” the Chancellor proclaims. The two of you share a sly look, and then Hux is guiding you into a grand dining room.

\---

The officer’s luncheon is littered with friendly faces, but it makes you a bit sad to see that Kylo isn’t among the group of men and women that you’re to dine with this afternoon. You had hoped he might be there, but you guess he’s off doing something else at the moment.

Conversation flows easily at the table, and you’re content to listen more than talk as you eat your delicious meal. You’d been a bit worried at first about what eating on the ship would be like, but you’re delighted to see that it’s not all pre-packaged foods and tasteless protein portions. The gathering only lasts for about an hour, but you have a splendid time nonetheless. You leave happy, relieved at the thought that your peers in the Order seem to genuinely like you.

It would seem that your schedule is clear for the rest of the afternoon, all of your meetings and social engagements done for the day. You don’t know what else to do, so you ask your guards to show you around the ship a bit. They lead you through a virtual maze of corridors and passageways, escorting you to the the bridge, various landing decks, and even the medbay. It’s a comprehensive tour, and most of your afternoon has been eaten away by the time you’re satisfied with what you’ve seen. With nothing else to do, you simply have the guards take you back to your quarters. Before you dismiss them, though, you have one last question.

“If I wanted to speak to the Supreme Leader, how would I do so?”

One of your guards answers quickly, telling you that your comlink is all you need. You feel a bit silly as soon as he says it, having almost forgotten about the thing entirely. They aren’t standard on your home planet, and Miriam had only mentioned it in passing this morning as she tucked it place behind your ear. After a quick tutorial, the guards leave you alone, walking off down the hall to do stars know what.

You settle yourself in the living room, hesitant as you try to reach out to your husband. It feels strange, just talking out loud, but you do it anyway. Kylo’s voice is crystal clear in your ear, and you jump at the sound of it.

“I’m here,” he says. “What is it?”

As you go to reply, you almost feel silly for bothering him. “I was wanted to know what you’re doing.”

Your husband doesn’t seem annoyed though, telling you, “The Knights and I have been out on a scouting mission. We should be back in a couple of hours.” A pause, and then, “I apologize for not telling you my whereabouts.”

“No, no,” you say quickly, “it’s all right. I just wanted to know if you were going to be home this evening, that’s all.”

You don’t tell Kylo that you’re a bit eager to see him, or that you were afraid you might be sleeping alone tonight, and you pray that none of that comes out in your voice.

“I’ll be back soon,” your husband affirms, and then the com goes dead. It stings a bit, how quickly Kylo gets off the line, but you try not to take it personally. He’s doing something important, you’re sure.

Miriam appears just a few minutes after you send for her, and she’s happy to help you freshen up before the Supreme Leader returns. You sit in front of the vanity for a while, touching up your makeup as Miriam fusses with your hair. Though there’s no reason for it, you decide that you want to change dresses, indecisive as you pick through everything you brought from home. While no one commented on your appearance when you were out and about today, you felt out of place in your outfit. Everyone in the Order wears sleek, sharp, dark-colored garments— your floaty pastel dress is a far cry from any of that, even if it is pretty.

“I guess I need new clothes,” you sigh, running your fingers wistfully across the neat row of garments before you. You love them all, of course, but none of them look like something an empress would wear.

“Your dresses are beautiful,” Miriam reassures you, reaching out to admire one of your summer frocks. “But I can make arrangements with the tailor if you wish. He makes all of the Supreme Leader’s clothes, and rumor has it that he’s dying to meet you.”

You look at your attendant, perking up a bit. “Really?”

“Oh yes,” Miriam laughs. “Apparently, he’s been drawing up designs since your engagement was announced. I don’t think he gets to make many _pretty things_ , working for your husband, the Chancellor, and just a few other important officials.”

You laugh at that, glancing over at Kylo’s rows and rows of black tunics, pants, and shirts. If you had to go out on a limb, you’d say that Hux’s closet is much of the same. “I’m sure he doesn’t, poor thing.”

Miriam helps you pick out a dress to wear, and though you still don’t think you fit in very well, you do feel pretty when she’s done working her magic. You dismiss Miriam after that, thanking her for helping you change. She only smiles and shrugs, saying that you should call for her if you need her.

\---

Your husband does indeed return in time to take his evening meal with you, traipsing into your shared quarters in a swirl of black cape. He wears his mask, face a black, expressionless void. Still, you offer him a smile as he enters the room, hopeful that Kylo is happy to see you. Purposeful and quick, he strides right to one of his dresses, stripping off his helmet, cape, and gloves methodically.

“The Chancellor told me that you handled the Head of Charity with a firm hand. He said that you played her own games back at her, that you were catty and sarcastic,” Kylo declares, coming back into the sitting room to look at you now. The content of his speech and the firmness of his tone has your pulse pounding, and you only look in him in the eye because you feel like you must. Half startled and half afraid that you’ve disappointed your husband in some way, you sit up straight as a pin as he regards you with a curious gaze. But then his expression softens, a smirk tugging at the corners of mouth. “I must say that I am _very_ impressed.”

Relief washes over you, punctuated by a burst of white-hot pride. You knew in your own heart that you’d done well today, but hearing this praise fall from your husband’s lips makes you feel lightheaded with elation. Still, you remain humble.

“She’s just Mila if Mila was thirty years older and knew how to accessorize,” you say, laughing at a little. “It’s almost like I’ve been dealing with the Chairwoman since I was a child.”

Kylo’s smirk becomes more a smile as you make this remark, the fondness in his eyes making your heart flutter. “Nonsense,” he says, taking a step towards you. “I’ve seen that woman make commissioned officers burst into tears at state dinners. The fact that you made her squirm is something to marvel at.”

You lower your eyes, smiling a little to yourself. “I guess,” you conceded, biting your lip as you look back up at your husband’s face. Kylo doesn’t say anything else, abandoning the subject in favor of ordering dinner for the both of you. Your state of euphoria lingers nonetheless, and you’re enthralled by the idea of having done something right.

A droid serves you and Kylo your meal at the small dining table, coming and leaving without a word. Like this afternoon’s lunch, your evening meal is rich and delicious. You chatter happily as you eat, making polite conversation about the ship and your luncheon. Kylo makes small remarks in return, though he doesn’t speak at length about anything in particular.

You realize that it’s getting late when the two of you are finished eating, late enough to where it wouldn’t be inappropriate for you to wind down for the evening and get ready for bed. Normally you would take a quick bath and change into your night things readily, but with Kylo here, you aren’t sure that it’s worth it yet. If you were bolder, you would ask Kylo flat out if he intends for the two of you to have sex tonight, but you aren’t, so you don’t. Instead, you dance around the subject, shy and hesitant.

“I think I’m going to get ready for bed,” you declare, getting up from the table slowly. Kylo tracks your movements, watching you carefully as you come to stand. His eyes graze up and down your body, one hand reaching out towards you.

“Come here,” your husband beckons, “I’ll loosen your dress for you.”

Kylo stands, gently turning you around so that he may work on the lacing at the back of your dress. He pulls and tugs for a moment, fingers fighting with the fastenings for a moment, and then your dress is slipping off your shoulders, leaving them bare. The press of Kylo’s lips against your skin catches you off guard, makes you flinch involuntarily before you melt into the affection.

“I apologize,” Kylo mumbles, kissing up the curve of your neck now, “I just couldn’t help myself.”

“That’s all right,” you sigh, not complaining one bit when Kylo wraps his arms around your middle, pulling you back against his body.

“It’s a bit early to sleep,” he murmurs. “I’m not tired yet.”

Your husband’s teeth nip at the shell of your ear, and you’re gone after that, putty in Kylo’s hands as he guides you into the bedroom.

The lovemaking is even better than it was last night, more comfortable and less nerve-wracking now that your first time is over and done with. You still fumble a bit, not entirely sure of yourself, but Kylo doesn’t seem to mind. He even teaches you new things, telling you how to arrange yourself on top of him, how to move your hips in a way that makes both of you mumble curses under your breath. But Kylo plays fair, showing just as much as he tells, and you come to find out that your husband is even better with his mouth than he is with his hands. You’d always thought that having someone go down on you would be strange or even unpleasant, but oh, how wrong you were. By the end of it all, the both of you are panting for breath, covered in a thin sheen of sweat as you kiss your way through your orgasms.

Kylo is the first to shower, promising to be quick as he leaves you on the bed with a kiss and a glass of water. You lie there in the tangled sheets, listening as Kylo washes the last hour off of his body. It doesn’t take him long, and then you’re the one in the shower scrubbing away everything that’s just happened. Your hips and thighs ache, chapped lips burning as the water streams over them. Drowsy and satiated, you try to bathe quickly, the energy necessary for you to linger in the ‘fresher sapped by Kylo’s cock, mouth, and hands. You reach a hand between your legs in the process, pulling back fingers covered in your husband’s cum. This makes you pause, staring at the milky sheen on your skin as you consider its purpose. Silently, you pray that Kylo’s seed catches swiftly, letting your hand fall under the water as you do so.

A cleaning droid must have come while you were gone, because every sheet and pillowcase is clean and pressed when you come back into the bedroom, unsoiled by you and Kylo’s lovemaking. Your husband is subdued as you crawl into bed next to him, but he doesn’t push you away when you curl into his chest— quite the opposite, actually. His arms are strong around you, just as they were last night, and you’re out like a light within minutes.


	9. IX

The next several weeks of your life are a virtual continuum of meetings and planning sessions. You work both with the Board of Charitable Affairs and alone, studying poverty statistics, learning about various cultures, and deciding which locations and issues take precedence over other points of interest. It’s a lot of hard work, but you find satisfaction in your duties nonetheless. Every positive report and letter of gratitude that falls into your hands staves off feelings of burnout and discouragement, and after a month and a half, you feel like you’ve made a real difference in the lives of some of your underprivileged subjects. Even so, there’s still so much to be done, but you’re more than ready to rise to the occasion.

Other members of the Board are wowed by your dedication, and even some the Chairwoman’s cronies admit that your proposals have merit. Evan herself is still a thorn in your side, but mostly harmless. Her jabs are sly, and you know that she gossips about you behind your back. She’s furious that you’re doing so well, and it shows in every malicious remark. The Chairwoman could do nothing to spoil the work you love so much, and in any case, the friendships you’ve forged with your peers are fine buffers for her nastiness.

Overall, you feel more comfortable on the ship now. You know your way around for the most part, the strangers are less strange… The Supremacy feels like home, almost. You still miss sunshine and breathing real air, but you’re acclimating to this environment, to this life. People regard you with respect, and you think that most of them even like you— what more could you want?

Even your relationship with your husband has become a bit… _smoother_. The two of you have fallen into a routine together, and though you sometimes wish you saw Kylo more during the day, you’re still content to spend your evenings with him, to share his bed. He remains pleased with your charitable work, and you even caught him singing your praises to a group of officers once. Every compliment from Kylo, be it about your work, your appearance, or something else, never fails to make your pulse quicken, and you try to show him just as much kindness. Kylo isn’t free with his physical affection outside of the bedroom, but he does hold you each night as the two of you fall asleep, regardless of if you’ve had sex first or not. Though you yearn for a bit more affection in your marriage, this gesture does give you a bit of hope. You know that you’ve come to care deeply for Kylo, and you think (hope, _pray_ ) that he cares for you as well.

You find yourself mulling over the nature of you and your husband’s relationship frequently, plagued with worries about your connection. Truthfully, you wish you could see into the future so you could confirm for yourself whether or not you and Kylo will ever fall in love, but you have no such abilities. So, you’re left to wonder in silence, alone with your thoughts. You ponder the notion of simply being friends with the man you’re married to, of being _cordial_ with the father of your children. The idea leaves a bad taste in your mouth, and you finally gather up the courage to voice your concerns to someone you think may be able to understand.

“Miriam,” you say one evening, eyes your attendant in the mirror as she brushes your hair. She is focused on her work, never looking up at you even as she speaks.

“Yes, Empress?”

“Have you ever worked for someone like me before?” you ask, immediately realizing how the question could be cause for confusion. “I mean, have you ever worked for someone whose marriage was arranged?”

“Oh yes,” Miriam says at once, adjusting her stance as she works out a knot. “Many of the women I’ve served had their marriages arranged. Some of them never even laid eyes on their husbands before their wedding day.”

The mere notion of such circumstances makes you feel marginally luck, seeing that you got to meet Kylo more than once after your engagement. Not knowing what your husband _looked_ like before you married him? Stars above…

You sit up a bit on your stool, hands fidgeting. “Did… Did it usually turn out okay?”

“Define ‘okay’,” Miriam says slowly, throwing you a curious look in the mirror now.

“Well… Did the couples usually end up caring for one another? As lovers do, I mean, and not just as partners or… or _teammates_.”

Miriam sets your brush down on the vanity in front of you, running her fingers through your hair absently as she decides what to do with it. “I’ve only seen one such marriage play out terribly, and I think it had more to do with their age difference and the husband’s proclivities than anything else. In every other case, at least in my experience, the couples ended up caring deeply for one another.” Miriam expression shifts to one of concern, and she sets her hands on your shoulders rather gently. “Why do you ask, my lady?”

You could dismiss Miriam, you know. You could tell her that you’re done talking, you could shut her down completely and demand that she dress you without saying anything more. But Miriam doesn’t deserve to be treated that way, and your heart is too raw for cruelty at the moment.

Miriam must take your hesitation to speak as an indicator of trouble, because she narrows her brow and asks, “Has everything been alright with the Supreme Leader, Empress?”

It’s a bold question, almost too bold, but you’re happy to know that Miriam feels safe enough with you to speak in such a fashion.

“No, no,” you say quickly, rushing to assure your attendant that you’re okay. Because you are, in the grand scheme of things— you’ve just been locked inside your head too much lately. “Kylo’s been wonderful. I just— I just hope that I have his heart, or that I’ll come to have it, eventually.”

You hate yourself for crying, swiping away the tear that rolls down your cheek as if it’s burning your skin. Miriam watches you do this, concern and sympathy written plainly on her face. She finally takes her hands off your shoulders, threading her fingers through your hair now. An outsider would think that she was simply sectioning it off for styling, but her touch is far too gentle against your scalp to be anything less than comforting.

“Does the Supreme Leader have your heart, Empress?” Miriam asks quietly.

You force yourself to swallow the lump in your throat, biting back more tears. As a result, your voice is nothing more than a strained whisper. “I think so.” Miriam’s eyes soften considerably, and she quits fussing with your hair. You bark out a laugh, though it’s a humorless one. “Isn’t that pathetic? I’m in emotional turmoil because I have a _crush_ on my _husband_.”

Your attendant replies, failing to acknowledge your self-deprecating remark. “Though I don’t profess to know his feelings, I do believe that the Supreme Leader cares for you,” Miriam states, making an actual effort to style your hair now. “He doesn’t parade you around like a trophy or a decoration, but he does like having you by his side when the two of you make appearances. And you’ve told me yourself that he’s proud of the work you’ve done for all of the Order’s charitable causes. Men who don’t care for their wives definitely don’t care about what their wives do, no matter how great their achievements.”

Miriam pauses to meet your eyes in the mirror, smiling warmly. You return to the gesture, already feeling a bit silly about your little crisis. Everything that Miriam’s said isn’t news to you— perhaps you just needed to hear it from someone who’s not involved the way you are.

“And,” your attendant adds, “if I may be so bold… his affection for you is written plainly on your skin.”

Your entire body floods with heat at this, and your face turns so red so fast that it’s almost unnatural. You know good and well what Miriam’s referring to, the love bites on your shoulder, the bitemark on your chest. Kylo called them “reminders” the first time he ever put such a thing on your body— they’re supposed to help you remember how beautiful he thinks you are. And though you like to think that the sentiment is something special, you downplay it now in front of Miriam now.

“He could do that to anyone,” you say, flustered. Miriam raises her eyebrows a little, casual.

“He could,” she concedes, “but he doesn’t. He marks you where only the two of you can see. It’s not a possessive action, not meant for the benefit of others.”

You quite like the sound of that, but your embarrassment prevents you from saying so. Miriam tucks one last pin into your hair, and then her hands are gripping your shoulders again.

“The Supreme Leader thinks much of you,” she declares, “both as a diplomat and as his wife.”

You nod at this, encouraged by the serious look in your attendant’s eyes. Miriam gives you the smallest of shakes, a gesture meant to punctuate her conviction. “Love will come,” she assures you, “I promise.”

Part of you wants to argue, wants to say “what if,” but you push every doubting remark back down your throat. Miriam is no great oracle, she can’t possibly know how everything’s going to play out, but you trust her immensely. She’s lived far more life than you have, and if she says that something’s going to happen, then it likely will. And in any case, Kylo _is_ sweet to you, he does hold you and kiss you and call you his when the door is closed and the lights are low. So for now, you choose to be content with what you have.

“Love will come.”

\---

The rest of your day is rife with meetings and political engagements, more so than usual. You receive countless ambassadors and visiting parties in the throne room, talking with each and every single person at length about their concerns and worries. Winter is fast approaching on some of the Order’s most underprivileged possessions, and many leaders from those planets and territories fear for their poor and sick. You sympathize with them immensely, but still, it’s been daunting to take each proposal and plan in turn. But thankfully that’s all done for now; the throne room sits empty, the corridor outside of it vacant and quiet.

The ship’s evening cycle is upon you, and you’re more than ready to retire to your chambers. A hot meal and a warm bath would do you good, you think, along with a change of clothes. Your shoes have been pinching your feet for hours, and you’re just sick of being covered in beading and embroidery and delicate little things that you have to treat gently. Draping yourself in beautiful clothes is always such fun, but all the fussiness of it does get old after a while.

Before you can make it back to your sanctuary, however, two stormtroopers come out of nowhere and inform you that your husband wants to speak with you at once. With a raging headache and aching feet, you want nothing more than to send the both of them away, to send Kylo a com letting him know that he can come to your quarters if he wishes to tell you something, but you do none of this. If Kylo’s asking for you directly, it must be urgent, so you let the two troopers lead you through the ship, praying all the while that nothing too awful has happened.

It’s cold in the hanger bay when you and the stormtroopers arrive, icy air biting at your skin through the fabric of your sleeves and bodice. Kylo awaits you near a small craft, flanked by the other Knights of Ren. Though they bow deeply and regard you with the proper respect you deserve, you can’t tell what any of them think of you, these strange, powerful men and women who serve Kylo so loyally. Honestly, they unsettle you quite a bit, all of them faceless and expressionless, obscured behind masks and helmets, constantly armed and armor-clad. You suppose other people are afraid of Kylo for the same reasons when they first meet him, but you’re of the opinion that the other Knights are just simply less approachable, less _human_ than he is. Perhaps if you could just see their faces…

Turning away from the stares of the Knights, you give your husband a tired smile. “What’s the matter?” you ask, bracing yourself against the chill of the hanger as goosebumps pop up all along your arms.

“I just wanted to inform you that the Knights and I will be leaving for a few days,” Kylo declares, voice robotic through the vocoder in his helmet.

A wave of sadness washes over you, heavy and completely unexpected. You try to cover it quickly though, keenly aware of your audience.

“Now?” you ask, voice rather small.

Kylo nods curtly. “Yes.”

Suddenly, you hate his mask, you hate the fact that your husband’s face is covered. You wish you could see his expression, the look in his eyes, anything that would let you know what Kylo’s thinking.

“How long will you be gone?” you ask, shivering now. It really is cold in this damn hangar, and you aren’t draped in a cloak like everybody else.

“Two to four days,” Kylo answers. The stab in your chest is inexplicable, but it pains you nonetheless.

“I see,” you say, just because you feel like you ought to speak. You cast a look towards the Knights, eyeing their weapons and protective garments, and it suddenly dawns on you that they may be armed for battle. “Where exactly are you all going?”

Kylo is in no mood to be specific, it seems, simply telling that they’ll be doing some scouting in the Minor Possessions. This feels like a lie, but you don’t call him out, unwilling to accept the fact that Kylo could be injured or killed in the very near future. You wish desperately that the two of you were alone, that you could maybe have a moment with him before he leaves. He’ll never let you show him affection, not out in the open like this in front of subordinates, so you just nod, trying to paint on a smile to the best of your ability.

“Well, I hope you all return safely.” You take a small step forward, addressing your husband directly now. “Please be safe.”

Kylo doesn’t say anything for a moment, and though you still can’t see his face, you do think his voice is a bit gentler as he goes to speak. “We’ll be back very soon,” he assures you, and your heart jumps when he reaches out to stroke your arm for the briefest moment.

You smile one more time, watching sadly as your Kylo and his Knights file onto their vessel. They blast off into space without another word, leaving you to watch as their ship becomes but a speck on the inky expanse of stars before you.

It’s an upsetting turn of events, Kylo leaving, and you feel almost childish for not wanting him to go. If he and the Knights decided to leave so promptly, whatever they’re off to do must be important. And who are you to hinder your husband’s work? He never begs you to take a day off from your obligations, nor do you think he would stop you from doing whatever you felt was necessary. But… It’s just that you’ve had a long, grueling day, and you were so looking forward to crawling into Kylo arms at the end of the night.

Thankfully, Miriam’s already waiting for you when you arrive back to your rooms. You drag your feet all the way into the ‘fresher, scrubbing at your eyes with makeup remover as your attendant works to undress you and let down your hair. After you’re changed into more comfortable clothes, you dismiss Miriam for the evening, unable and unwilling to make small talk any longer.

Eating alone is just as depressing as you thought it would be, though getting into bed is even worse. You turn in early, of course, completely drained from all you’ve done today, but you find the bed far too big and far too cold without Kylo beside you.

Tossing and turning, you lie awake until the wee hours of the morning, finally passing out after it seems your body cannot stand to be awake any longer.

\---

Kylo’s absence and your foul night’s sleep does nothing for your mood the next day, and you spend much of the morning agitated and snappy. It feels as though your meeting with the Board will never end, and what’s worse, the Chairwoman seems to be in a particularly bright, almost mischievous mood today. You’re sure her cheerful demeanor stems from something that happened this morning, likely an incident that involved her spatting on a custodian or kicking a small child as she walked by. In any case, her shrill laugh and wolfish grin only serve to sour your mood, and as the meeting wears on and on, you grow more and more inclined to have Evan’s tongue cut out on site. However, she’s left you alone for the most part, so you feel as though the action would be unwarranted.

Not ten seconds after this thought crosses your mind do you find yourself reconsidering your self-restraint.

“Oh, my lady!” the Chairwoman exclaims, turning her sharp little eyes your way. Malicious intent curls out of her mouth like smoke as she speaks, you can practically _feel_ the jab coming. “I meant to ask you— where has the Supreme Leader run off to?”

Holding back the urge sigh deeply, you regard the Chairwoman evenly, saying, “A planet in the Minor Possessions.”

You’re being very fair, you think, indulging Evan with the truth even though your husband’s location is none of her business. But she’s seemingly unsatisfied with this, and there’s a glint in her eyes that you don’t like.

“Well, you certainly are a good wife, letting him jet out like that on a whim,” Evan sighs. You’re keenly aware that all eyes are on yourself and the Chairwoman, everyone no doubt waiting to see how this volley between the two of you will play out. “I know I’d be much less inclined to let my man go if I knew that he was going to be out unattended with whores about.”

Evan’s smile is so bright, and you know it must be painful for her to set her face in such a fashion. Her comment is obviously meant to bait you, and you hate that you have to bite the hook— what she’s said is too scandalous to be ignored, and you risk letting her win if you don’t cast your own line.

“The Knights are not whores, Evan, at least to my knowledge,” you say, deadpan, though you do let a sort of wry smile play on your lips as you regard the rest of the table. “Though I don’t profess to know what they do in their free time, nor do I care.”

The quip gets most of everyone chuckling along with you, and Evan’s feathers are ruffled. She sharpens her verbal sword, trying in earnest to draw blood with her words now. “Yes, that may be true, but there are rumors that say that more than one of the Supreme Leader’s Knights of a Ren is a bit… _more_ than just a knight in his eyes.”

If you didn’t know her, this remark might upset you, might make you worried that someone else is sharing Kylo’s bed while he’s away from you. But this is the Chairwoman, and she is nothing but a vile, spiteful woman who wants to make you squirm simply because she enjoys making people upset. She’s so threatened by you, this cruel, bejeweled woman. It’s _pathetic_.

You lean on the smooth black table before you, chin cradled in one hand. “Chairwoman, may I ask you something?”

“Of course, my lady,” Evan replies readily. Oh, and she thinks she’s winning, you can tell by the glint in her eyes.

“Do you ever get tired of coming up with the drivel that constantly spews out of your mouth?”

Your foe looks as if she’s been slapped, that stupid grin finally melting off of her face. She’s overstepped herself and she knows it.

“I— I was simply making conversation, Empress,” Evan says quickly, letting out a light, nervous laugh.

“No you weren’t,” you scoff, shooting daggers right into the Chairwoman’s gray eyes as you cut her down to size. “You were trying to insinuate that my husband’s abandoned me here so he can fuck someone else in peace.”

The Chairwoman flushes, sitting up straight as a pin as she goes to dispute this. “I—”

“Oh, will you _shut up_?” you spit, cutting her off. “All you do is fucking talk and talk and talk! Sometimes I think I should just do everyone a favor and cut your tongue out myself.”

Right about now, Evan, her little lapdogs, and even the other members of the Board all look like they’re about to soil themselves. The only person who remains cool, calm, and collected is Hux, glaring at the Chairwoman from your side as you finish your little tirade.

“But I’m not going to do that because I’m a nice person.” You break into a sarcastic, mean grin as you say this, turning Evan’s favorite expression right back on her now. “I am, however, ending this fucking meeting. My head is pounding, and I’m sick of listening to you hold court at my expense. Get your work done somewhere else and be ready to impress me tomorrow.”

Nobody moves, not even when you say that the meeting’s over. They’ve never seen you like this, threatening and aggressive. Really, you don’t take any pleasure in acting this way, but enough is fucking enough.

“Go!” you snap. “All of you!”

Everyone is up like a shot now, including the Chairwoman, fleeing from the room as if it were on fire. You remain seated, watching on with disinterest and contempt, sparing a glare to anyone who isn’t moving fast enough for your liking. Within seconds, you and the Chancellor are the only ones left in the room.

“You can tell me if that was too harsh,” you say to Hux after a moment, feeling a bit sheepish about your outburst now that it’s over with. The Chairwoman absolutely got what she deserved, but you probably shouldn’t have dismissed the Board the way you did.

Hux shakes his head. “They’re you’re subordinates,” he tells you. “You can talk to them however you like. Personally, I think it was time someone reminded them who they’re dealing with.”

That makes you feel a bit better about the whole thing, but you shoot Hux a look, teasing. “ _You’re_ my subordinate, you know.”

Your friend rolls his eyes, rising from his chair as he drawls, “Have me drawn and quartered for my insolence, if you must.”

But then the Chancellor gives you one of his reserved little grins, offering you his arm, and you can’t help but smile back.

The both of you decide that it would be nice to dine privately, so you arrange to have your lunch brought to you and Kylo’s quarters. Hux jokes that the Chairwoman will be accusing _you_ of adultery next time she wants to toy with you, and the two of you have a good laugh about that one. Anyone who could actually believe that you and Hux are having an affair is an absolute moron.

You give Hux a little tour of your quarters while the two of you wait for your meal to arrive, letting him duck into your closet and ‘fresher to kill time. It comes as a bit of surprise to you that the Chancellor’s never visited these rooms before you and Kylo married, but you suppose he had no reason to. And in any case, you’re sure that Kylo’s always been a private person— he’s not partial to intimacy in general, and that goes double when it comes to conducting official business.

Hux is in the mood to chat, it would seem, tittering on about this and that as the two of you dig into your plates. You tell him about your abysmal night’s sleep, even going so far as to disclose that Kylo’s sudden departure upset you more than you’d like to admit. What with Hux’s usual no-nonsense demeanor, you’d been half expecting him to laugh at you for that; instead, he’s surprisingly sympathetic.

“It’s difficult to sleep without your lover,” your friend states, pushing some of his food around idly. “Some beds are just too big for one person.”

It’s only then that you notice how exhausted he looks, pale with dark circles stamped under his eyes. The vulnerability in Hux’s gaze is unmistakable when he sneaks a glance up at you, behaving as if he’s just told you something private, as if he’s made a confession. You assume that this is his very stiff, emotionally guarded version of opening up to you, and you feel rather touched that your friend has come to trust you in this way. Your first inclination is to press for details, to make Hux elaborate on what he’s just implied, but you know that he’d just clam up and refuse to speak about the matter ever again. So, you simply say that he’s right, eyeing your friend carefully as he nods and goes back to eating.

\---

To say that you’re relieved as you crawl into bed that night would be an understatement. It’s been such a long day, and you want nothing more than to drift off to sleep and forget about everything for a little while. But like the Chacellor said earlier, your bed is too large and too cold without Kylo beside you, and you can’t make your thoughts stop racing. Your head is filled to the brim, images of the Chairwoman and Hux and your husband swirling together into a storm that chases sleep right out of the harbor of your mind.

It’s infuriating, lying wide awake as your body screams for rest. You find yourself tossing and turning, flinging yourself across the bed in every way possible in a vain attempt to make yourself comfortable. Still, nothing works, and after twenty minutes you’re about ready to burst into tears. The mere notion of getting another awful night’s sleep has you ready to throw a fit, and now more than ever do you wish that your husband was home holding you in his arms.

Kylo checked in with you earlier on the com, though your correspondence was quick. He told you that he and the Knights were doing fine and that the mission was going well, though he was vague on the details. You’d been reluctant to get off the line, happy to hear your husband’s voice, but then Kylo said it was time to make camp and that he had to go. Really, you would feel best if he were here with you, but hoping that he’s warm and safe will have to do for the night. Everyone is always telling you how tough Kylo is, but wish he didn’t have to be. It pains you to imagine him shivering, to think of him anticipating an attack even as he tries to rest…

Yes, you’d _much_ rather have your husband next to you now.

Finally, after what feels like hours, your eyes grow heavy. Burrowing down under the comforter, you turn to face the pane of transperisteel on the far wall, drifting off with the stars glittering before you.


	10. X

The Chairwoman doesn’t deign to insult you for the remainder of the week, and even her cruelty towards others is dulled quite a bit when she’s simply in your presence. You would revel in your victory a bit more if you weren’t so busy, suddenly slammed with a new influx of proposal and funding requests from a planet named Palgodu. This just so happens to be where Kylo and his Knights have been out “scouting,” and you’re sure that the two things are closely related. You don’t have much time to muse on it, though, bogged down in files and appeal letters.

You work alone, mostly, cloistered in a private office that Hux offered you several weeks ago. It’s a relatively small space, plain in furnishing and decoration, but you like it that way. There are no distractions there, no prying eyes, no board members or diplomats to perform for— you get real work done at your desk, work that matters. Some of it is tedious, but you’re happy to be busy.

On Kylo’s fourth day away, two stormtroopers come to collect you, saying that your husband is back and requesting that you meet his party in hangar five. You drop everything upon hearing this news, rushing off at once to meet his husband and his party. Nervous energy buzzes all throughout your body, composed of equal parts fear and excitement; on one hand, you’re elated that Kylo’s returned, but you’re also terrified to see what sort of condition he’s come home in.

Just as you suspected, the lot of them look absolutely awful. The smell of blood and death and earth hangs heavy in the air around your husband and his companions, nearly making you gag as draw nearer to their vessel. They are caked in dirt, crusted in the very lifeforce of their slain enemies, but it’s the slashes and tears in their clothes that make your breath really catch in your throat. Kylo is not uninjured either, sporting a gash on his left arm and right side. He’s standing, thank the stars, lucid and calm— all of the Knights are that way too, long accustomed to violence and pain.

Kylo is your primary concern, of course, and you fuss over him openly, the spectators be damned. “What happened?” you demand. “Who attacked you?”

Your husband’s skin is grimy under your fingers, sweat and dirt soiling the cuffs of your sleeves as you press your palms against his face, making quick study of a scrape on his jaw.

“An insurgent faction,” Kylo replies, answering your question as if you just asked him what he had for breakfast.

The cuts on his arm and side draw your attention next, and you’re only half paying attention as he goes on to say that Palgodu’s leader requested the Order’s help in crushing an uprising that was ripping the planet apart. Kylo doesn’t even wince as you press a hand against the wound on his ribs, though you’re horrified to see your fingers come back slick with blood.

Kylo insists that he’s fine, unflinching as you beg him to go to the medbay. He says that the two of you must speak at once and that he wants to do so in your quarters away from prying eyes and ears. But you stand your ground, only cutting him the slightest bit of slack. Finally, Kylo capitulates to your demands, saying that he’ll be seen by a medical droid in your rooms if you go away with him now.

Your husband begins stripping down the second he gets into the ‘fresher, only stopping to set aside his helmet and lightsaber before he begins pulling apart his outfit. You try to help, his filthy clothes soiling your dress as you get him out of his pants, his undershirt. Kylo’s pained grunts are distressing to say the least, and you can’t even look at the purple-red patchwork of bruises that cover his body. The fact that your husband’s even standing right now is a miracle to you, given the beating he’s taken.

Though he declines your offer to help him bathe, Kylo does ask you to send for a hot meal. You do as he says without question, ordering dinner for yourself as well even though you’re too sick to eat at the moment. The medbay says that they’ll send a droid immediately after you contact them, and then you’re out of tasks to complete, left to anxiously chew on your nails as Kylo finishes washing the grime off his body.

When Kylo hobbles out of the ‘fresher, you insist on helping him dress, too frenzied to sit idle as he struggles to pull on a set of his night clothes. The medical droid chooses to appear just as your finishing up, rolling into the room almost on cue. Wordlessly, the little machine applies bacta and bandages to your husband’s worst injuries, leaving as quietly as it came. Another droid arrives almost immediately with your meals, and only when you’ve got Kylo settled at the dining room table do you feel like you’re ready to receive and understand information again.

“What happened on Palgodu?” you ask, only vaguely remembering what Kylo said earlier about civil war and the like.

Your husband eats ravenously, answering your question through a mouthful of food. “The King of Palgodu has been battling a faction of his own people that want to overthrow him. He contacted the Order and asked us to help him crush this insurgency, and myself and the Knights agreed to do so on the grounds that Palgodu come under the Order’s control.”

Your brow draws together, questioning. “What do they have to offer us in return?”

Kylo shakes his head a bit, already scraping his plate clean. “It’s not so much what the king has to offer as it is how we benefit from destroying the rebels on his planet. They meant to wage war with two other planets in the same solar system, but the king refused to offer his support. Stopping them or negotiating peace treaty would have been a much more taxing than simply snuffing out the warmongering at its source.”

You remember the bruises on Kylo’s body, the way his gash in his side wept blood until the medical droid attended to it. Your apprehension about Kylo’s choices and ideas must show on your face, too, because he moves to explain himself further.

“Palgodu’s current king is a fair, peaceful man loved by the majority of his subjects. The rebels were power-hungry and thirsty for blood. The plants they had their sights on are weak, impoverished places with little in the way of a military. We intercepted intel that said the insurgents were planning to use the inhabitants as slaves.”

“That sounds more like a conquest than a war,” you say then, horrified by the notion of such a plan. You had been afraid at first that Kylo and his Knights ran off for something trivial, but now that you know the truth, you’re relieved that they acted so quickly. Still, something nags at you. “Why didn’t you just tell me all of that? Why lie about the scouting mission?”

Kylo nods, becoming a bit more reserved as he regards you now. “I… I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Yes,” you say sarcastically, “it’s only a bit of _combat._ ”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Kylo insists, and you could just about slap him if you weren’t so relieved to have in safe in front of you.

“The wounds and bruises on your body beg to differ, _Supreme Leader_. I would have liked to know that you were in danger.”

You do that sometimes, poke fun at Kylo with his title. He’s used to it by now, huffing out a sigh as he apologizes. “Next time I’ll be more transparent,” he promises.

“Good,” you affirm, nodding as you sit back in your chair.

Kylo eyes your dinner, the meal virtually untouched in front of you. He digs in hungrily after you push the plate his way, scarfing it down as if he didn’t just finish eating ten minutes ago.

“When was the last time you ate?” you ask softly, heart clenching in your chest. This is exactly the sort of thing you’d been worried about, your husband being hungry, or cold, or hurt. Kylo’s indifferent shrug only serves to make you sadder, and you find yourself almost in tears as take in the bruises on his knuckles, the scrapes on his face.

You want to tell your husband everything in that moment. You want to tell him how you feel, how you missed him while he was gone, how you wanted to throw your arms around him right there in front of everybody in the hangar. But you don’t want to ruin anything, don’t want to be too sickly sweet, so you opt to say nothing at all.

Done with his second dinner now, Kylo pushes the plate and silverware away from him. The look in his eyes is softer now, gentler, and he beckons you over. “Come here,” he says, “come closer to me.”

You do as Kylo asks, coming to stand beside his chair. He shifts a bit, turning to face you completely. “I ruined your dress,” your husband states, eyes flitting down to the stains all over your sleeves and bodice.

You make a flippant gesture, unbothered. “I have others.”

“Still, I apologize.” He reaches for your hands, clasping them gently in his own. “Will you come take a bath with me?”

Though you’re more than willing to soak in the tub with your husband, you can’t help but remind him that he did just take a shower.

“My body hurts,” Kylo explains, and it’s only then that you notice how exhausted he truly is.

Kylo helps you unlace your dirty dress as the tap runs, filling the bathtub with hot water. It’s a large fixture, wide enough to accommodate both you and your husband as the you step in. Steam wafts about the two of you, fogging up every mirror in the room and sticking little tendrils of hair to your face and neck. Afraid you’ll prod one of his bruises, you’re reluctant to crawl into Kylo’s lap the way he wants you to.

“You couldn’t possibly hurt me right now,” he insists, settling you so that you’re straddled across the width of his thighs. You half expect him to grope you then, to husk in your ear that he’d like to fuck you if you’d let him the way Kylo so often does when he gets you in this position. So it’s quite a pleasant surprise when your husband tucks your head under his chin instead, wrapping you up in his arms rather gently.

“The King Palgodu has decided to take those two little planets under his wing,” he says, apropos of nothing. “He and his wife would like to host a benefit with the Order’s help in order to raise funding for new schools.”

You look up at Kylo then, smiling a bit. “I’ve always wanted to plan a party,” you say softly.

“I figured as much,” Kylo replies, reaching up to brush some of your hair out of your face with wet fingers. He’s smiling, actually smiling for once, and the very sight of him makes your heart sing.

Curling back up against your husband’s chest once more, you card your fingers through his hair idly. Even injured and exhausted, he is still so solid beneath you, so unyielding. It’s so lovely to be held like this, to be cradled in Kylo’s arms. You are safe here with him, safe in this moment of peace.

“I missed you,” you whisper, finally feeling as though it’s okay to admit how you feel.

Your husband’s hand is warm on your back, palm making long, gentle strokes up and down your spine. “I thought of you each day,” he murmurs, drawing you even closer to his body.

Something goes unspoken between the two of you then, the message translated through touch instead of words. Kylo tilts your face up gently, kissing you the way you’ve been dying to be kissed for days. He’s far too tired to have sex, he tells you as much himself, but the two of you make out anyway, tongues sliding together as your hands roam without purpose or intent. It’s bliss, letting your lover lick into your mouth as you revel in the fact that he’s safe beneath you, safe safe _safe._

The two of you are pruny and drowsy when you finally dry off and stumble to bed, snuggling up like puppies together under the comforter. Kylo passes out almost immediately as if he’s never slept before in his life, and you aren’t far behind him.

For the first time in days, the two of you _rest_.

\---

 _It’s a wonder what a good night’s sleep can do!_ you think as you breeze into the Board’s usual meeting room, entering in a swirl of crimson gown with a smile gracing your face. Despite your pleasant demeanor, the Chairwoman and her lapdogs still track your movements with caution, poised to defend themselves should you choose to strike in any manner. You’ve been an absolute menace towards the lot of them these past few days, mood soured by lack of sleep and Kylo’s absence. You don’t intend to be any nicer to them now that he’s back, of course, but you still think it appropriate to internally acknowledge your own behavior.

“Good morning!” you sing-song, sliding into your chair happily as you regard the table. Hux smiles one of his reserved smiles, and some of your other friends on the Board do the same. Evan, though, she remains timid and complacent, not saying a word. She’s been like this since you threatened to make her a mute, lacking in smart comments and little quips meant to upset you (or anyone else for that matter)— you simply wouldn’t have her any other way.

Planning for the Palgodu benefit gets underway quickly, everyone diligent in their work as the lot of you field ideas for a guest list, potential donors, locations, and the like. Several of your most dependable Board members feel confident that they can garner interest in the Palgodu cause from planets in the Major Possessions, and Hux speaks highly of several wealthy Order loyalists.

You’re pleased with the group’s progress, though you will be doing some planning of your own in your office this afternoon. There’s catering to think about, and press coverage, and you of course you have to doublecheck that the Palgoduan team approves of your choices thus far. Still, you dismiss the Board before your regular lunchtime, satisfied for now.

However, there’s one last thing you need from a particularly _prominent_ member of your posse.

“Chairwoman,” you call, stopping the woman in question before she can slip out of your field of vision.

Halting at the call of her title, Evan comes to stand before you, still on her best behavior. “Yes, Empress?”

“I know you have connections to several mineral magnates,” you say, cutting the Chairwoman off when she moves to speak. “Please, don’t dispute the truth.”

Your foe’s mouth presses into a thin line at this, but no words leave her lips. She’s fuming, absolutely seething with rage at the fact that you’re about to exploit one of her little not-secrets. The Chairwoman thinks she’s so slick, running around behind closed door with these wealthy men and even their _sons_. It’s the kind of thing that won’t ruin her, should it ever come into the light, but you just _know_ that she would sooner die than have everyone know her business.

Luckily, this particular weakness works in your favor.

“Yes,” Evan admits evenly, “I know several barons on Valdera and other such planets.”

You quirk one eyebrow, nodding in satisfaction. “Excellent,” you declare. “I want you to convince them all to donate a _ridiculous_ amount of money to this cause. They certainly have the credits to spare, and I think it’s about time the big boys shared a bit with the little guys.”

The Chairwoman swallows heavily, cutting her eyes to the side. “Empress, I don’t know—”

“Nonsense!” you exclaim, mock confident as you rise from your chair. “You’re a _resourceful_ woman, Evan! I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

You place a pat on her arm, satisfied when the Chairwoman flinches away from you just the slightest bit. She’s fifteen seconds from flying into a fit it would seem, her emotions bubbling and boiling just beneath the surface as she curtsies and wishes you a good day. But still, Evan leaves you without another word, stomping out of the room to go whatever it is she does in her free time.

Lunch is a hurried affair, just you and Hux scarfing down something easy before you go your separate ways. Full and refreshed, you practically barricade yourself in your office, sending coms and poring over data lists as you try to work out the finer details for the benefit ball. A date is set, one that will come up on your fast if you let it, and you’re only further motivated to get all of their other details fleshed out once messages of approval start flooding in from the Palgodu team. Over and over, they tell you how grateful they are for your help, and it pleases you to know that you’ve secured more positive connections for the Order.

Time gets away from you, the hours passing in flurries of paperwork and research. The sound of a knock at your door disorients you, the jolt of your body nearly sending you to the floor. Abandoning your desk, you go to the portal to see who’s there, the muscles in your legs straining from lack of use.

Kylo’s is the last face you were expecting to see on the other side, but he’s a pleasant surprise nonetheless.

“So this is where you’ve been,” your husband says in lieu of a greeting, peering at your little office over your shoulder.

“What do you—?”

One glance at the chronometer on the wall shows you that it’s late, later than you’ve ever worked before. You turn back to Kylo at once, flooded with embarrassment and remorse.

“Oh stars,” you breathe. “I missed dinner! I’m so sorry, Kylo, I was just working and—”

Your husband cuts you off, crowding into your space to steal a kiss from your rambling lips. “Mm, don’t worry about it,” he mumbles, still trying to press his mouth against yours even as you fight to apologize again. “The Chancellor told me that you were doing important work. I just came to check on you.”

You blush at that, happy to kiss Kylo back now that you know his feelings aren’t hurt. His affection and concern for you is intoxicating and just the slightest bit jarring, for he never behaves this way outside the bedroom. You can’t help but think of last night, of what was said in the bathtub, and you even allow yourself to get your hopes up a bit. Maybe your husband’s finally opening up…

“I can leave you alone now if you want to continue working,” Kylo declares, arms laced around your middle. “I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t died in here.”

It’s his version of a joke, and the sentiment does make you giggle.

“I should probably be done for the day,” you concede, suddenly tired. Your stomach rumbles beneath your bodice, lunch but a distant memory now.

“Please, don’t let me stop you,” your husband insists, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. You let him, shaking your head.

“No, no. I’m starving, and I really was looking forward to spending the evening with you.”

Your voice is soft, husky even, as you tell Kylo that last part. You missed him very much while he was gone, that’s for sure, and in more than one way… To say that you’d like for him to take you to bed now would be an understatement.

Luckily, your husband seems to understand what you mean. He presses your body more firmly against his, hands settling low on your hips. “What did you have in mind?”

Kylo’s eyes are dark, and his mouth quirks into a smirk as you scoff. “You know,” you say, giving him a playful bat on the chest. But then you remember his wounds, the bruises and the scrapes, and you feel selfish. “If you’re still in pain, though, we don’t—”

“Oh, my love,” Kylo chides, and stars does the pet name make your face hot, “I had every intention of fucking you senseless tonight as it was. I’m just glad to hear that you’re similarly inclined.”

\---

You’re on Kylo from the minute you both get back to your quarters, kissing him and biting him and fumbling with all of the buttons and stays keeping him trapped in his clothes. He’s just as hungry for you, his desperation showing in the slide of his mouth and hands, but it would seem that he has a particular set of ideas about how he wants tonight to go.

“Slow down,” your husband commands, gently pushing you off of him. The noise you let out as you land on the foot of the bed is pathetic and so, so very discontent, your kiss-bitten mouth molding into a pout. Kylo shakes his head at you, lips quirking up into a smirk. “We have all night, darling. Don’t look so upset, you’ll get what you want.”

“But I want you now,” you whine, pulling at your husband’s belt, palming him through the front of his pants. It’s a cheap trick and you know it, but still, you hope it works anyway.

Kylo’s not swayed in the slightest, however, catching your wrist. “And you’ll get me,” he promises, slowly sinking to his knees before you. His eyes are so very dark as he reaches out, grasping your bare foot delicately in his hand. “Just be patient, please.”

It’s not every day that you hear the Supreme Leader say “please,” and though you want nothing more than to feel his cock in your body, you decide to indulge your husband in this little game. And really, how could you complain when his lips are so soft on the top of your foot, on your ankle, on your calf. Even the way Kylo shoves your dress up your leg is sweet and deliberate, and all you can do is sigh and suck in deep breathes as he presses kisses all along your flesh.

“Tell me what you want,” your husband mumbles, speaking against the side of your knee. He cuts his eyes your way, nipping you so suddenly that your whole body jolts in shock.

“I… I want you,” you breathe, chest heaving. You shouldn’t be this affected after just a few chaste kisses, but Kylo is such a tease, he knows just how to make you squirm.

Another kiss, this time further up your leg, and then, “Oh darling, I know that. But what do you want me to _do_ to you?”

He’s a cruel man, your husband, a real sadist. He knows very well that you’re awful at this part, that you stutter and stammer whenever you try to make the smallest of demands. You took to riding Kylo and sucking his cock without much difficulty, you could (and have) let him fuck you for hours without complaint, but talking dirty and saying what you want has never been easy for you.

You’re really flustered now, pulse pounding so hard that you think you can hear it in your ears. “Kylo, please, I…”

“You’re the Empress,” he reminds you. The callouses on his palm are maddening, the sensation of them scraping against your skin making your cunt twitch. You don’t even want to _think_ about how wet you are right now, how you’re probably staining your dress. “You can have whatever you want if you simply _ask_ for it.”

Stars do you want this man, you want him to fucking ruin you.

Kylo turns his focus back on your flesh, kissing across your thigh until you can feel his nose almost in the crease of your leg. He’s so close to your cunt, all he would have to do is turn his head and he could suck right on your swollen clit, but he doesn’t, the infuriating little fucker. The tease of it all is enough to make you feral, to almost unhinge you completely. For two seconds, you consider just jerking Kylo around by his hair, consider _making_ him put his mouth on you, some previously unknown part of your mind arresting your thoughts for just a moment until Kylo speaks.

“I am your husband,” he tells you, suddenly more solemn than flirty. “You can say anything to me. I _want_ to hear it.”

You hesitate for just one second more, finally cracking when Kylo’s tongue darts out across your skin.

“I want you to fuck me,” you say slowly, your own words making your cheeks burn in embarrassment. “I… From behind. I want you to fuck me from behind, but I want to finish on my back.”

Your husband stares up at you, eyes so dark with lust as he nods. He looks so pleased, so _happy_. “Where do you want me to cum?” he asks, finally pushing your dress all the way up now. You’re already pulling at your underwear, cunt drooling from the anticipation of what’s to come.

“Inside me,” you answer promptly, palms sweating as you remember how hot hot _hot_ you feel whenever Kylo paints your womb.

He must finally be satisfied, because Kylo says nothing after that, finally burying his face between your thighs. You nearly burst into tears, so utterly relieved as he laps at your clit, shrugging out of his outer layers as he does it.

The two of you are wild that night, fucking like animals for what feels like hours. Kylo listens to you, he keeps all of his promises, pulling your hips against his harshly as you press your face into the comforter. But he puts you on your back before he cums, of course, dutiful in following your directions. Your husband is so good to you, thumbing at your clit until you cum for the second time that night before he lets go himself, biting down hard on his lip as he watches you writhe. Only when you’re panting and trying to come back to reality does Kylo spill his seed inside of you, flooding your body as he grunts and holds you in place hard enough to leave bruises. You clutch onto Kylo as soon as he hits the bed beside you, carding your fingers through his hair. Both of you need a shower, or least a onceover with a wet washcloth, and the bed is absolutely destroyed— but stars are you happy, happy and satiated and too tired to move from this spot.

Finally, though, you do get out of bed, stumbling into the ‘fresher with your husband at your side. Kylo makes you drink a whole glass of water, gulping one down himself while the shower gets hot. Neither one of you is in the mood to linger beneath the spray, but you do help each other bathe, soapy hands sliding over skin as you take note of new love bites and bruises.

As per usual, the bed is clean when you and Kylo emerge, the sheets fresh and the comforter set back in place. You and Kylo fall into it together again, dressed in loose comfortable clothes as you revel in the aftermath of your lovemaking. Kylo lets your slump across his chest, petting your hair languidly. Neither of you says anything for a while, content to lie together in silence.

The large window in your quarters draws your attention, and you stare out at the glittering expanse of space all around the Supremacy. Even after all these weeks, you haven’t gotten used to this, drifting amongst and the planets and moons and stars of the galaxy. You find yourself missing sunshine often, tired of artificial light. And weather, too— your heart aches for rain.

Outside the wide, tall pane of transperisteel, two patrol vessels zip past, making their usual rounds around the Supremacy’s massive body. The image of this sparks a memory, reminds you of something Hux told you in passing days ago.

“Don’t you fly?” you ask suddenly, addressing your husband. Kylo’s hand stills in your hair, and he tilts his face down to look at you.

“Yes,” he affirms, “since I was a teenager.”

You snuggle against Kylo’s chest, still staring out at the blackness. “You should take me out one day.”

Kylo settles in bed a bit, looking out the window himself. “Would you like to go now?”


	11. XI

“Are you sure this is safe?” you ask your husband, hesitantly settling in his lap as he starts up his TIE-fighter, flipping switches and pushing buttons.

“Oh yes,” Kylo assures you, absently pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I would never put you in danger.”

You’re still not convinced, unsure about two people galivanting through space in a one-man vessel, but Kylo’s arm is strong around your waist, his words comforting. And honestly, you’re too excited to _really_ be bothered, thrumming with anticipation at the notion of zooming around the ship with your husband after hours.

Kylo is careful as he guides your ship out of the hangar, exiting the Supremacy with care. But as soon as the two of you are fully out in the inky expanse of space, he punches the accelerator, sending the little craft off at an exhilarating speed. You giggle as Kylo whips you around the ship, squealing when he makes sharp twists and turns with master precision. Hux had told you that your husband was an excellent pilot, but you had no idea what that really meant, accustomed to traveling on casual transport vessels. But Kylo is being anything but casual, telling you to hold on as he executes rolls and loops and other tricks that make your heart jump up in your throat.

Clutching onto your husband tightly, you’re absolutely delighted to realize that he’s enjoying himself too, grinning against the side of your face as he tells you to brace yourself before he does something complex. Stars, he even _laughs,_ the sound of his joy coming from deep in his chest. He loves this, you realize, loves to fly. Your husband, a serious man, a man with little time to himself and so much to do, loves to go out and do the one thing that probably makes him feel truly and supremely _free_. And what’s better still, he’s decided to share this hobby of his with _you_.

By the time Kylo lands the TIE back in hangar two, you’re breathless and giddy, flushed with elation from all that’s just happened. As soon as Kylo pops the door open to give the both of you a bit more air, you’re on him in an instant, pressing kisses to his face as you laugh and laugh. He kisses you back, holding you and smiling into your mouth.

“Did you have fun?” Kylo asks, finally peeling you away from him.

“More fun than I’ve ever had in my life!” you exclaim, turning to fall back against his chest with a sigh. Wistfully, you add, “Oh, we should do that every night!”

Your husband settles his arms around your middle, nuzzling into your hair. “If the Empress commands it, then so it shall be.”

You smile at that but say nothing, content to stare out at the stars glittering in the distance before you. Kylo’s got his little craft positioned so that the two of you can gaze out the back of the hangar, safe inside the climate preservers and blastshields. The two of you hold one another for a long while, sitting in comfortable silence until Kylo finally speaks.

“Did you have any lovers before me?” he asks, settling you in his lap.

“I told you the night we wed that you were my first,” you reply, brows drawing together in confusion. You thought the whole thing had been rather unforgettable, but maybe that was because you were the one who wiped a bit of blood from between your legs when all was said and done.

“Well of course,” Kylo says quickly, sensing your disconcertment. “But did you have any other… beloveds? A boyfriend, or just someone who cared for you?”

You shake your head. “No. Mila was very good at turning others against me, and there are many beautiful girls my age in my husband’s court. Everyone passed over me, I think.”

Kylo kisses the top of your head upon hearing this, arms holding your tighter. He hesitates as he goes to speak though, almost as if he’s choosing his words carefully. “Even the women who attended to you?”

You balk at that, caught off-guard by the question. Memories flit through your mind like flashes of light, and for the first time in years, you think of Sabe’s hands, of the way her lips felt on your neck. The two of you had been so young then, barely Helda’s age when you first kissed each other in the dark. It was an innocent little tryst for the most part, two teenagers sneaking into each other’s beds to make out for a couple of hours while everyone else was asleep. There was only one time that something “serious” happened between the two of you, something that was a bit more than simple kissing. You had been so nervous when Sabe opened the front of your nightgown, self-conscious about your body back then. But her mouth was warm and soft and wet as she suckled at your breast, laving her tongue across your nipples in a way that made you sweat. She never touched you, never actually made you cum, but that was the first time you can remember really wanting to have sex with someone. No promises were made, you never courted one another, but you would be lying if you said there wasn’t a bit of puppy love at play all those years ago. Obviously, though, the little fling ended, fizzling out with the heat of the summer months. You thought Sabe had moved on forever and a day ago, but you’ve been rethinking the idea of that since her little post-engagement explosion.

“I see,” Kylo says softly, breaking you from your thoughts. Embarrassment washes over you then, staining your cheeks with crimson— he saw what you were thinking about.

“I don’t miss her,” you say at once, rushing to explain lest your husband mistake your reminiscing for longing or pining. “We were virtual children then, curious and bored and accessible to one other. I just don’t like how we ended our friendship is all. Sabe was very angry when I said I wanted to marry you, even after you offered me a chance to break things off. Myself and my other ladies ended up having a fight with her about it, and it was ugly. _She_ was ugly.”

Kylo gives you a squeeze around the middle, comforting and companionable. “I’m sorry.”

You shrug, mildly upset and completely unaffected all at the same time. The little relationship you had with Sabe is all water under the bridge, old news from years ago that you look back on with fondness. But her cruel comments towards yourself and Lydia have not faded with time, and they still sour your image of her overall.

Tired of thinking about the matter, you shake your head to clear away of images of Sabe, of her mean eyes and her soft mouth. Reaching a hand back to toy with a lock of your husband’s hair, you decide it’s his turn in the hot seat.

“What about you?” you ask, inquiring about his past relationships. “I’m sure you had many beautiful lovers before me.”

Kylo plays it modest, simply saying, “I took women to my bed on occasion, yes, but they were never anyone special.”

You won’t let him get away that easily, though, pressing for details. “Who did you sleep with?”

Once again, your husband is casual, speaking the truth without boasting. “Women I met through diplomatic work, mostly. The parties and the dinners, you know how it is.”

In actuality, you _don’t_ know how it is, but you nod companionably nonetheless. You’re an adult— you understand the basic premise of what he’s saying.

“You never had girlfriends, lovers you saw regularly?”

A shake of the head, and then, “None of them interested me. But I certainly didn’t string anyone along. I watch officers do that to people all the time, and it disgusts me to no end. My intentions were always clear from the outset.”

You admire and respect that sentiment, pleased to hear that your husband never went through a womanizing phase like so many men of station do. And not because he wasn’t desired, either, for you’re sure the women (and men) flung themselves at Kylo back in the day the same way they do now.

Your final question is perhaps your most invasive, but you think Kylo won’t be offended if you ask it. “What was your first time like?”

“When I was twenty-two, Supreme Leader Snoke sent me to negotiate a treaty on Valdera,” Kylo begins. “As you know, the President and his Parliament like to partake in quite a bit of… _merrymaking_ when they receive guests. They threw me a feast, and many important officials were there. Nearly all of them were drunk before we even began eating, but I didn’t feel comfortable becoming inebriated amongst strangers.”

You nod, pressing a kiss to your husband’s knuckles to show that you’re listening.

“Anyway, as I was having dinner and trying to ignore all of the foolishness going on around me, I felt as though I was being watched. When I looked down the table, I saw that it was a woman who was staring at me. She was seated in a dignitary’s lap, and I thought at first that she was his wife. But then I noticed that other women had come to the table as well, and I understood at once that she was some sort of concubine. Or a prostitute, maybe. In any case, she was very beautiful, and I could see everything she was picturing in her head as she looked me over.”

“She was fantasizing about you,” you say, and not without a bit of jealously. This woman is long gone, a relic of Kylo’s past, but you still can’t help yourself from being a bit miffed.

Your husband must sense the change in your mood, because he draws you closer to his chest, laughing lightly. “Yes, you possessive little thing, she was.”

Though you’re not ready to be done sulking just yet, you crack a smile nonetheless, unable to stay mad when Kylo’s teasing you and nuzzling his nose against your ear.

“Naturally,” Kylo continues, “I was a bit taken aback, but I didn’t say anything there at the table. A few hours later, I retired to my rooms for the night, and she came knocking not long after. I was unsure of myself, but I let her in anyway. She said she was there to spend the night with me, a gift from the President himself. I told her at once that she wasn’t obligated, that she didn’t have to stay if she wasn’t truly willing, but she was insistent, putting her hands all over me as she told me that she was tired of fucking old men. I warned her that I wouldn’t be much of a partner, given my inexperience, but she said that was no matter.

“She taught me much that night. All of the ways a man can fuck a woman, what to do with my hands and my mouth… She probably enjoyed the sex more than I did that first night, but I tried my best to please her.”

“I’m sure you did just fine,” you tell your husband, unable to fathom him being a bad fuck. “Did you see her again after that?”

“Yes, but only for the remainder of my stay.”

You pause, hesitant to hear the answer to this next question. “… Did you care for her? Or any of the others?”

Kylo says nothing for a moment, rearranging in his lap so that you two may look at one another a bit better. His face is set, expression serious as he cradles your cheek delicately in his palm. “I always treated my partners with respect, but none of them ever meant anything to me, not really.”

For just a moment there, in the chill of the hangar, you feel safe enough to lay bare one of the soft spots on your heart. “Do I mean something to you?” you whisper, too afraid to ask any louder than that.

“You are my _wife_ ,” Kylo replies, caressing your skin. You kiss your husband then, heart bursting at this quiet, almost unspoken admission of his love for you.

The two of you retire to bed not long after that, walking hand in hand back to your quarters. Kylo lets you hold him so tightly that night, falling asleep with his face pressed against your chest. You breathe in the scent of his hair as you nod off, warm and content.

\---

Palgodu is just entering its winter months, the air nipping at your exposed face and ears as you walk up the steps of the royal castle. Snow hasn’t fallen yet, thankfully, but you step lightly anyway, not wanting to graze over an icy patch and go tumbling. Kylo is by your side, of course, shrouded in a black as per usual. He keeps you close, probably trying to warm you up himself even though you’re draped in furs and thick fabrics. The two of your take in the great castle before you together, noting the fine stonework and carpentry. It’s a sturdy building, built no doubt to keep warmth in and invaders out. Guards are lined up all along the front of the place, armed to the teeth. They may be there for you and Kylo’s benefit, a welcoming party of sorts, but you doubt it. If your planet just ended a civil war, you’d keep yourself covered on all sides as well.

King Eli awaits you and Kylo as soon as you enter the castle, grinning broadly as he welcomes the both of you to his home. The first thing you notice about the King is his size, for he is tall and wide, made exclusively of thick slabs of muscle. He would be imposing with his full beard and beastly hands, you think, if his demeanor were not so warm.

You and Kylo amble through a corridor just off the castle’s entrance hall, following in the King’s wake. You pass many tapestries along the way, precious pieces of handiwork that seem to depict the history of Palgodu. They turn your head, these works of art, and you find yourself studying them intently until you’re shown into a small receiving room at the end of the hall.

The first thing you feel when you lay eyes on the Queen Eleanor is envy. Before she even so much as speaks, you’re plagued with it, the jealousy you feel so white-hot in your veins that you’re afraid your skin will glow from the heat. She is heavy with child, the Queen, her stomach round and swollen underneath the skirt of her gown. To make matters worse, the bundle of blankets that she clutches to her chest is squirming, confirming that she already has a little one out here in the world as well. And then a young girl dashes out from the corner of the room, giggling as she evades being picked up by her nurse, and you feel as though you might actually burst into tears.

It’s idiotic, you know, to be jealous of a woman simply because she has children, but you can’t help the way your mind rages at the sight of Queen Eleanor and all the bounty of her womb. She has so much of what you want, so much of what you’re worried you’ll _never be able to have_. Still, it’s impossible to hate her for long— the Queen, like her husband, is just far too kind.

She welcomes you with open arms, beaming as she declares that she feels as if the both of you already know each other. And you sort of do, you suppose, given how much you’ve communicated these past few weeks. Like you, Queen Eleanor handles her regime’s charitable efforts, and you’ve spoken at length over comm about donations and food and a myriad of other subjects. She’s practical and a bit headstrong, passionate about protecting those who rely on her and her husband for help.

“I apologize for not meeting you right when you arrived,” Eleanor says to you. “The baby needed to eat, and Maudie is always so restless when she’s forced to stand still.”

Finally, you snap out of you sad little trance, remembering where you are and what you’re doing. “Oh please, don’t be sorry,” you reply, waving her off with a gesture and a sweet little laugh.

Though your feelings of envy pass quickly, the sudden burst of intense emotion does leave you feeling disoriented. The rest of the afternoon is mostly a blur, and you barely feel like you’re there as you and Kylo dress for dinner. You must put up a good front though, because neither Miriam nor Kylo says anything as about your demeanor as they interact with you.

Dinner consists of a large feast, and you’re grateful for the crowd around the table. There’s much talking and laughing, and you’re able to shrink back into the noise, more content with observing rather than participating tonight. You do feel a bit better though, fortified by your warm meal and a few sips of wine. And of course, Queen Eleanor continues to be a lovely friend, trying to rope you into conversations regarding the upcoming charity gala that the two of you have worked so hard on.

Just as you’re digging into your dessert, however, you feel it, that round, aching pain that most women know all too well. Your good mood evaporates immediately, overtaken by an empty sort of melancholy that’s even more painful than the cramping in your abdomen. Keenly aware of your audience, you try desperately not to let your emotions show on your face. And stars does _that_ take all you have, the task made even more arduous by the fact that your husband sits beside you. You don’t want him to perceive the shift in your mood, so you must guard your thoughts more closely than ever before.

Mercifully, your mask never slips, your defenses do not fail, and you’re able to excuse yourself from the table with ease. In a surprising turn of events, Kylo actually accepts King Eli’s invitation to play cards, and watching your husband walk away from you is perhaps the biggest relief of all in this moment.

The walk back to your chambers is relatively short, but your limbs are so heavy as you make the journey. Miriam is there waiting for you, but you have no heart to perform for her, stumbling into the ‘fresher with little more than a weary ‘hello’. When you check, your underwear are stained, just as you suspected. And though you already knew what happened the moment you felt your stomach cramped up at the table, this confirmation of your worst fear makes you breakdown completely.

Cleaning yourself up sloppily, you leave the ‘fresher with tears in your eyes, startled to find Miriam there in the doorway when you try to go back to the bedroom. She’s poised to get you whatever you may need, mouth already forming the words, “What can I do for you?” when the two of you lock eyes. You don’t know why you do it, but you collapse into Miriam’s arms right there, offering no explanation for your actions as you dissolve into sobs.

“What’s the matter?” you attendant asks quickly, supporting your weight as you sag against her. Miriam’s hands are on your back, in your hair, rubbing and petting and trying in vain to soothe you.

You draw back from Miriam’s chest, hiccupping pathetically. “I started my period,” you tell her, and the fact that you sound like a distraught twelve-year-old girl is not lost on you in the moment.

Miriam looks confused for a moment, asking, “Did you—?” But then her face dissolves into a look of sympathetic understanding, and she puts her arms around you again. “Oh. Oh, my lady.”

You beg for a bath, unable to do anything else as your attendant holds you close. Miriam does as you ask, letting the hot water run as she unlaces your gown and lets down your hair. Trying to be useful, you take off your jewelry on your own, but even this small task feels insurmountable in the midst of your breakdown.

The heat of your bathwater feels like a warm hug against your skin, but not even this serves to soothe your aching heart. Drawing your knees up to your chest, you curl in on yourself, choking on your own tears and sniffles. Miriam allows you to have a moment, sitting patiently by the bathtub as you settle yourself. Finally, she speaks.

“What’s the matter?” she asks softly, reaching out to stroke your hair again. You don’t brush her off, though your tone is less than charitable.

“I already told you,” you reply curtly, hugging your legs closer.

Miriam maintains her composure, speaking gently. “I know. But I have a feeling that this is about something more than a bit of blood in your underwear, Empress.”

Swallowing thickly, you contemplate whether or not you want to get into all of this right now. But Miriam is your only resource, really, the only older woman in your life that may be able to offer you a bit of advice.

“I just want to be pregnant,” you finally croak, voice raw from crying for so long. Miriam sighs at that, nodding solemnly.

“I know, my lady,” she says companionably, still carding her fingers through your hair. “Has the Supreme Leader said something to you? Gotten angry or expressed his dissatisfaction?”

“No,” you say quickly, moving to sit up now. Your head pounds, clogged with congestion from all your crying. “It’s… it’s the Queen.”

Miriam starts at that, eyes ablaze, her tone indignant. “ _Queen Eleanor_ said something to _you_?”

You can’t help but laugh then, touched by your attendant’s defense of you. “No,” you say, any joy you experienced just now dissipating. “She’s a lovely person, it’s just… It’s just her children. She has so many, and I—”

“And you have none,” Miriam cuts softly, finishing your sentence for you. You nod, chewing on your bottom lip to keep from crying again.

“I just don’t understand it,” you declare, utterly bewildered. Miriam lathers up a rag, washing your body as she listens to you talk. “Kylo and I have sex nearly every night it feels like. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong!”

“It’s not about what you’re doing,” Miriam soothes, rinsing you with her hands. “Sometimes these things just take time, that’s all.”

You throw a look Miriam’s way, eyebrows raised. “It only takes once.”

Miriam laughs a bit at that, nodding. “Yes,” she concedes, “technically once is enough. But that’s not the case for everyone.”

That makes you sigh, mostly because you know she’s right. Still, you can’t help but feel betrayed by your body, by your womb.

“Have I ever told you about the first woman I ever served?” Miriam asks, redirecting your attention away from your thoughts.

“No.”

“She was a senator’s wife,” your attendant begins, pouring shampoo into her hand now, “and she was desperate to get pregnant from the moment she got married. Like you, though, it didn’t happen for her right away, and she became rather upset. She began doing anything she could to conceive after a few months, drinking these disgusting teas, standing on her head after she and her husband had sex— just all sorts of nonsense. But after a year, she still had no child. Doctors assured her that she wasn’t barren, but of course she thought otherwise.

“After a lot of crying and wasting away in her bed, my mistress just put the whole thing out of her mind. It destroyed her to do so, but she decided that perhaps she wasn’t supposed to be a mother. But do you know what happened after she quit fixating on the idea of getting pregnant?”

“She finally did,” you answer, already seeing where Miriam’s going with this story. She nods, confirming that you’re correct.

“That’s right. She went on to have another three children after she had that first baby, and they were all healthy and beautiful.” Miriam hooks her fingers under your chin, forcing you to look at her. “The same way yours will be. But you must relax, Empress. If you fester in this desire to bear a child, the stress will prevent you from getting the very thing you want so badly.”

You want to argue, to say that you _aren’t_ working yourself up into a frenzy about having a baby, but that’s simply not the truth. You think of conceiving each and every time you and Kylo make love, you pray and yearn and hope as you as you wash him off your body. You even dream of it sometimes, giving birth, and not all of the things you see in your head are pleasant.

“Just enjoy being with your husband,” Miriam advises, almost as if she can read your mind. “If you relax and allow yourself to let go when the two of you make love, a baby will come quickly. I promise.”

You desperately want to believe you attendant, but your own anxiety forces you to remain unconvinced. Still, you’re grateful for the reassurance, figuring that everything will be brighter in the morning.

Kylo comes back from his card game not an hour after you get out of the tub, kissing you soundly as he grumbles about drunken aristocrat and a particularly poor hand that came his way during the event. You almost tell him about your little episode but ultimately refrain from doing so, figuring that it’s not worth the trouble. Still, your husband is intuitive as ever, asking you if everything’s all right as the two of you retire to bed.

“I’m just tired, that’s all,” you tell him, more than happy to snuggle down under his arm.

Kylo doesn’t press the matter, though you’re not sure he believes you. But he holds you close anyway, shielding you from the chill of the room.

That night, you dream that you’re running all through the Supremacy, chasing after a small child that giggles and squeals as they continuously evade your grasp. It’s frustrating, for they always seem to be just ahead of you, just around the corner or already running down the next hall over.

Just as you get close enough to grab the back of the child’s shirt, you wake up.


	12. XII

Final preparations for your charity gala are done in the snow, puffy white flakes falling from an overcast sky as servants bustle about the Palgoduan castle. You oversee some of the goings-on, a bit tired from your fitful night’s sleep. Kylo is elsewhere, preoccupied with some Order business of a different sort, and you cannot help but feel a bit thankful. Though you’re in better spirits today, sadness lingers at your core, and the last thing you need right now is Kylo asking you if everything’s alright.

Queen Eleanor is by your side for most of the morning, holding her pregnant stomach as the two of you walk about together. She is so sweet, this Queen of Palgodu, but you still feel a pang of jealousy each time you lay eyes on her, on her children and her body. You ty very hard to do as Miriam told you, to not dwell on your empty, fruitless womb, but that’s easier said than done.

At midday, the Queen declares that she is practically starving to death, and she very graciously invites you to take lunch with her and the children. Your first impulse is to decline the invitation, your raw heart wanting nothing more than to avoid sad reminders of all that you do not have, but you force yourself to accept anyway. It wouldn’t do to appear rude, and this childish little self-pity party must come to an end sometime.

You eat in a small, informal dining room in the company of Princess Maudie, baby Eli, and the children’s nurse, Mya. The meal you’re served is rich and heavy, lots of hearty meats, cheeses, and winter vegetables. Queen Eleanor practically inhales a slab of red meat all on her own, eating ravenously in a way that makes you believe that she really _was_ starving.

Princess Maudie takes great interest you as lunch carries on, regarding you curiously as she munches on bits of shredded meat and little slices of fruit.

“Who are you?” the little girl asks after a while, head cocked to one side as she stares you down from across the table.

“Maudie, we talked about this,” her mother chides. “This is the Empress of the galaxy.”

“You met her yesterday, darling,” Mya adds.

Maudie seems perplexed by this revelation, though she moves past it quickly. Her next inquiry centers around why you’re here, asking next where you live after you tell her about your charity work. After serval minutes of intense grilling, Queen Eleanor and Mya tell Maudie that that’s enough.

“Nonsense,” you declare, amused by the little girl’s line of questioning. She’s quite intrigued by the fact that you live on a ship in space all the time, and she wants to meet Kylo again since she, quote, “forgot about him, too.”

You’re in better spirits when you retreat back to your chambers, but rather tired. A nap would do you good before the party, you think, so you draw the curtains and climb into bed. Sleep comes easily, and it’s some time before you wake again.

The room is no different when you open your eyes, sunlight still trying in vain to seep in through the thick curtains you shut tight. Everything is dim and dark, just as it should be, but you’re no longer alone as you were when you lied down.

“Good afternoon,” Kylo murmurs, the pad of his thumb soft and warm on your cheek.

Snuggling against your husband’s touch, you give him a sleepy, loose smile. “It certainly is now.”

\---

The merrymaking is well underway by sunset, everyone drinking and dancing and chattering happily as if none of you have a care in the world. Many important officials from around the galaxy are strewn about the room, your cause’s most generous benefactor by far. Others are around as well, of course, lesser nobles from Palgodu, a few choice friends. To your utter joy, Lydia, Helda, _and_ Joon could all make it tonight, and you’re practically vibrating at the thought of seeing them again. Comm correspondence just isn’t the same, and you can’t wait to hear all about what’s been going on in their lives in person.

You and Kylo’s arrival is met with thunderous applause, though you’re thankful that you don’t have to formally receive any guests the way you did at your wedding reception. Nonetheless, you do a fair bit of schmoozing out on the floor, greeting ambassadors and generous benefactors alike as Kylo accompanies you. He’s quiet, letting you do all the talking, but the adoration in his eyes is not lost on you every time you look his way.

Joon finds you first, mercifully saving both you and your husband from a rather droll conversation with a couple of diplomats. Her approach is slow and deliberate, though smile on her face is wide.

“I was going to just run up and hug you,” Joon says, fitting the both of you together in an embrace, “but Nobi said that two Praetorian Reds would probably cave my head in before I could explain myself.”

You can’t help but laugh at that, squeezing your friend soundly. Even Kylo cracks a little smile, though it seems he doesn’t know quite how to act naturally in this situation.

Joon has much to tell you, talking your ear off as she whisks you away from the party’s main staging area. To your utter joy, Helda and Lydia are waiting for you off to the side, nursing drinks and talking idly until they see you approach. Their embraces are painfully and spectacularly familiar, warm in the way that true friendship should make one feel. Stars, you think you might cry as you look upon their faces, upon Lydia’s dark eyes and Helda’s red curls.

Poor Kylo is nothing more than an afterthought for a few minutes as you and Joon and Helda and Lydia all make over one another, chittering like birds and grinning like happy children. Only when he gently grasps your wrist do you remember yourself.

“I’m going to speak with Hux, darling,” Kylo tells you, bending down to press a kiss to your cheek. You feel bad then, expression melting into something apologetic and you twine your fingers together.

“I’m sorry,” you say, “you really don’t have to go.”

Unbothered, Kylo shakes his head. “I want you to speak freely with your friends. Find me in while, please.”

And with one last kiss on your face, your husband turns on his heel to leave, striding off in a dark swirl of cloak. You can feel eyes on your before you so much as turn back to face your friends, all of them no doubt about to tease you mercilessly.

“So that’s the galaxy’s biggest tyrant?” Joon muses, one eyebrow cocked. Helda’s grin is as sly as she can muster, and even Lydia seems pleasantly intrigued for once in her life.

“He’s not so bad,” you murmur, glancing over your shoulder at the back of Kylo’s retreating head.

“We’re glad to see that,” Lydia declares, the look in her eyes uncharacteristically soft.

There’s no more talk of Kylo after that, or of men in general, for the four of go out onto the dancefloor together. It’s just like old times again, you and your friends spinning and jumping and holding hands in time to the music, wisps of hair clinging to your flushed faces. And though it’s all great fun, you tire of the activity after a while, thirsty and a bit too sweaty for your liking under the thick fabric of your gown.

Helda and Joon split off from you and Lydia, both going in separate directions. It’s grown a bit late, Helda’s mother beckoning her away, Joon’s boyfriend missing her by his side. Lydia and yourself grab something refreshing to drink and head outside, warm despite the chill in the air. Neither of you says anything for a while, simply sipping out of your respective cups as the two of you take in the night.

You turn your gaze Lydia’s way, studying her face, the set of her shoulders. There’s something lighter about her, something… _peaceful._ As long as you’ve known Lydia, you’ve seen her happy or content, but at peace? Never, not once. It looks beautiful on her, truly.

“What’s happened to you?” you ask, words coming out of your mouth along with an icy puff of air.

Lydia turns to you, eyebrows narrowed, her own breath fogging before her face in the darkness. “What do you mean?”

“You seem different,” you explain, “like all the weight’s fallen off your heart.”

Lydia rolls her eyes at that bit of poetry, but the smile that creeps over her face is rather telling.

“I’m… I’m with someone now.”

A noise of surprise escapes your lips, uncontainable as a bolt of unbridled excitement shocks your chest. Lydia shies away from your exclamation, but you won’t let her off that easily.

“Who is he?” you demand, grabbing her arms now. “Where is he from? What does he do?”

“His name is Jacob, he’s from our planet, and he owns a manufacturing facility,” Lydia tells you, answering all of your questions in one go. “We met a couple of months ago at a harvest party in the country.”

“ _’Months,’”_ you breathe, though you can’t bring yourself to be angry at Lydia for not telling you about all of this until now. She’s so guarded, always has been— you’d be a fool for expecting anything less.

“I know,” Lydia concedes, speaking quietly. Some of the light in her eyes flickers for just a moment, jarring you from your euphoric state. “I wanted to be sure it would be different this time.”

You cup Lydia’s cheek then, willing her to stop thinking of that vile man you’re sure she’s seeing in her mind.

“Is he good to you?” you ask, because that’s all you care about. “I mean _really_ good to you.”

And, as if someone flicked a switch, that soft, soft light is glowing in Lydia’s eyes again.

“Jacob is kind,” she tells you, “with his words and with his hands.”

You can’t help the tears that slip down your cheeks, hot reminders of how truly _happy_ you are for this friend of yours. For Lydia, who deserves all of this and so much more.

“Well that’s good,” you begin, swiping at your cheeks, “because if he wasn’t, I’d have to have him executed.”

Lydia lets out a little laugh then, a real one, not one of the humorless barks that you’re much more accustomed to hearing. “I assure you he has no reason to tremble at your feet, _Empress._ ”

It’s a jab, the emphasis Lydia puts on your title, but a playful one. You shove her for it still, rolling your eyes.

“If I remember correctly, you told me you’d help me become a runaway bride at my wedding reception _, Lydia._ ”

The both of you break down into chuckles then, laughing at yourselves and at each other. And though it’s cold, though the wind is biting at your back through your bodice, you feel so very warm, wrapped in the company of an old friend.

“So when do I get to meet this Jacob?” you ask, locking arms with Lydia as the two of you retreat back into the warmth of the party. Your friend shrugs, as practical as ever.

“Well, if you’re willing to endure Princess Mila’s wedding—”

Your whole body shudders to a stop, your feet nearly tangling in your skirts as you take in that particular combination of words.

“Mila’s _what?_ ”

Lydia balks beside you, obviously taken aback by your surprise. “You didn’t know? Mila’s due to marry in a month. Your uncle arranged it, I’m sure, some nonsense about making mineral alliances. I can’t believe no one told you. Rumor has it that you and the Supreme Leader were to be invited.”

You’re not sure about all of that, given how you left things with your uncle and his children the night before your wedding, but the news itself is still… discomforting. Mila hasn’t shown you an ounce of kindness in years, but you know good and well what her father’s capable of. Stars, he sold you off without so much as a second thought, not caring what became of you once you were sent to live with Kylo. Everything worked out in your favor, but how were you, or him, or anybody else for that matter supposed to know that? Besides, you don’t think your uncle could get so lucky twice.

Lydia submits to a virtual interrogation right there in the middle of the party, giving up the name of Mila’s betrothed, the exact date of her wedding, and a few other pieces of information that are more gossip than confirmed fact. Apparently, most of the maids and the concubines are saying that your uncle’s selling Mila off to pay some of his gambling debts, the matter made even more sickening by the fact that her future husband is nearly as old as your uncle himself. The mere of idea of this makes your blood boil, for your marriage to Kylo bagged him similar benefits just earlier this year. And, to your horror, the man’s raised taxes on his people yet _again_ without explanation.

Knowing your uncle, he’s taking every single credit and putting it right back on the card table. You knew he was a man who liked to have a good time, but _fuck…_

“I have to go speak to my husband,” you tell Lydia, pulling her into a quick hug before you start walking off. “Thank you, Lydia, really.”

Kylo is thrilled to see you, tucking you against his side with one strong arm as the officers around him bow. While the affection does make your heart bubble a bit, the anxiety you feel is much more pressing.

“May I speak with you?” you ask Kylo, praying that he senses your urgency.

Your husband takes you away at once, guiding you through the castle and back to your shared chambers without so much as a word of question. He listens intently as you tell him everything, rambling about Mila and your uncle and how the taxes on your planet’s people were already astronomically high to begin with.

“Do you have proof that he’s using the taxpayers’ credits to fund his lifestyle?” Kylo asks, coming to help you with the zipper on your dress. You shake your head as you slip your arms out of the sleeves, rushing to throw on something comfortable and warm.

“No,” you concede, “but I know how he is. When I came to live with him, I always wondered how he afforded the parties, and the women, and everything else that he fills his free time with. And it worries me that my uncle’s already angling to having his debts paid off again, especially at the expense of shipping Mila off to be with a man that he could have gone to school with. She’s supposed to be finishing her education, not helping him get out from under a bad habit.”

Kylo nods at that, though the look in his eyes expresses reservation. “My love,” he begins slowly, “why… why do you want to help your cousin? From what you’ve told me, she’s been awful to you all your life, and I certainly didn’t like what I saw of her at our rehearsal dinner.”

It’s a good question, and a hard one to answer at that. Kylo lets you think for a moment, pulling together some night clothes to wear to bed in the meantime.

“I want to help her because… because my uncle won’t live forever, and it’s not like he’s doing a good job of ruling as it is. My uncle may be impulsive, but he’s not stupid. Sebastian couldn’t pour water out of a boot if the instructions were on the heel, and Tensin is no better. Mila, though… Mila is cruel, but her wit is sharp. Without her working behind her brothers, the planet’s fucked.”

You pause for a minute, a bit irritated by your more sentimental feelings now.

“And, as a woman, I can’t send her off to marry that man. He’s old enough to be her father, and you know how all of those Valderan mineral barons are. I worry about what would become of her, what he would make her do…” You picture Lydia’s sad eyes, and something in your chest clenches. “Mila may be awful, but I can’t sell her out like that, not for my uncle’s bullshit. I remember how afraid I was when we got engaged, how much I feared not being able to please you.”

Kylo’s hand is warm on your face, the back of his fingers stroking over the curve of your cheek. You press into the touch, taking his hand in both of your own.

“But of course, all of my worrying was for naught because you’re more loving and gentle than I could have ever imagined. You respect me, and you want me to be happy, but I have a feeling that that’s not how Mila’s husband will feel.”

“If you think something must be done, then by all means, step in. I’ll have a ship prepared for you tomorrow at once.”

The both of you go to get in bed, more to relax than to lie down the night.

“No,” you say, waving Kylo off, “let me do some digging first. I want to be sure I’m right before I go off and make a big fuss at home.”

\---

You’re back on the Supremacy by late afternoon, anxious to get to the bottom of all of this. Hux, ever the good friend, briefs the Board of Charitable Affairs for you, allowing you time to hole up in your office for most of the day.

You pore over financial documents, intel from First Order informants, and numerous reports, looking for discrepancies or abnormalities in your home planets spending and accounts. It’s no surprise to find that your uncle’s run up a long list of expenses, many of which are listed as “miscellaneous” or “personal”— or, to the layperson, stimulants and whores. However, no one’s cooking the books. It appears as though every credit is accounted for, every tax dollar where it should be— the money’s just being spent like it’s in the hands of a child. With everything correct (in an extremely technical sense) on your uncle’s end, you move on to Mila’s fiancé, a nagging feeling in your gut telling you that he warrants investigation.

Tarlak Tu’Iuni is middle-aged, decent-looking, and filthily, _disgustingly_ rich. Mineral money, naturally, seeing that he was born and raised on Valdera. He’s never been married before Mila, but he has a couple of illegitimate daughters that he seems to care for in some capacity. However, Tarlak’s personal life matters little to you. It’s always the money with the mineral barons; they can be perfectly good people in their personal lives— real upstanding citizens, even— but they just cannot keep their accounts straight to save their lives. They always want a little extra, they’re always moving money around… Lets just say that paying taxes and being frugal are two things that do not come easily to the Vaderan elite.

But, well— you’re the Empress of the Known Galaxy. For every slick accountant a mineral baron like Tarlak Tu’Iuni has in his corner, you have five even slicker financial investigators in yours.

Your team comes to you with a report in a matter of hours, and you nearly fall down when you learn of their findings.

“You’re absolutely sure?” you ask the woman before you, clutching onto the datapad in your hands for dear life.

“We triple checked all of the transactions. These people are good, I must admit,” she affirms, shaking her. “This is the sort of fraud you have to _really_ look for. I’m not surprised we weren’t tipped off until you made us start looking for inconsistencies.”

You blow out a huge breath, anxious and enraged all at once as you scroll through the numbers. Your companion’s right— even laid out plainly this way, most it _seems_ legit.

“Would you like me to contact the Guard?”

“No,” you tell the woman, though you’re grateful for her loyalty and sense of urgency. “Tell no one of this. I’ll handle it.”

“Yes, Empress.”

And then you and your bearer of bad news are going your separate ways, she to brief the team on your wishes and you to find your husband.

It’s later than you’d realized, the intensity of your work sapping away time with little effort. The ship’s night cycle is well underway, guard shifts down to barebones personnel, most corridors empty and quiet.

Kylo is with his nights, just as you suspected, the lot of them stowed away in a dark corner of the ship that they like to frequent. Each one rises to their feet upon seeing you, the Knights bowing in respect as your husband comes to greet you.

“She’s been skimming off of the charity accounts,” you declare, holding out the datapad for Kylo to take before he can so much as say hello. “Her and all her fucking friends on Valdera. Mila’s fiancé is going to essentially paying off my uncle’s debts with money he and Chairwoman Evan stole from the Palgoduan donations and a couple of lesser projects in the Outer Rim. _Millions_ of fucking credits, Kylo! _Millions!_ And that’s just recently!”

You don’t mean to shout, but rage is hot in your veins now. Kylo looks horrified and bewildered all at the same time, scrolling through the information you’ve given him quickly. Not two seconds later, the air seems to crackle all around you, lights flickering under the influence of Kylo’s powers.

“Is your uncle in on this?” he asks you, eyes dark and wild as he regards you. The Knights stand at attention now, waiting for orders, waiting to be sent off for an attack.

“No,” you scoff, waving your hand flippantly. “They’d be stupid to involve someone like him in this. This is inside shit, crime committed amongst a tight-knit group of _intelligent_ people. I wasn’t even looking for something like this, my team found it when I had them doublecheck Tarlak’s accounts.”

“It’s a good thing you did,” Kylo says, trying to stay calm even though you _know_ an outburst is bubbling up inside him. His fist is tight at his side, shoulders tense and taunt. And the energy in the room… You’re just grateful he isn’t angry at _you_.

Finally, your husband hands the datapad back.

“We’ll deal with this issue at once,” he declares, and the Knights are ready to follow him out of the room without so much as a cue, the lot of them already grabbing for weapons and tools of destruction.

“Kylo,” you cut, stepping into his path. “Kylo, my love, let’s talk about this first.”

“That bitch stole money from the _Order_ ,” he spits, murder in his eyes. “All of those credits are for food, and medicine, and schools—”

“I know that, my love,” you soothe, though a fresh wave of rage does sweep through your insides at the notion of one of your subjects going hungry so that Evan and her cronies can play another hand of cards. “But we have an opportunity to make a statement here. Gutting Evan in her quarters may be satisfying now, but why not put let everyone else see what happens when they try to steal from the Order? Why not show the galaxy that we’re in control, that no one can just get away with things like this?”

Kylo draws in a shaky breath.

“I will have the offenders arrested at once. They shall be executed on a live broadcast tomorrow afternoon.”

You nod at that, satisfied with the statement. Still, you know your husband well.

“Well,” you begin, smoothing down the front of his shirt, pulling a few pieces of hair out of his face, “I never said _all_ of them had to be executed publicly— just the important ones.”

Kylo’s hands come to rest on your hips, his grip tight on your body. Feigning innocence, you begin caressing his cheek in lazy, slow strokes.

“I also think it would be wise if we got a few of the main players to confess. You know, just so no one thinks we’re making this up. I’m sure you and the Knights could handle that, right, darling?”


	13. XIII

Two days later, you find yourself back in the bowels of the ship, course set for a room that lies off the beaten path. You hear it when you’re close, the screaming, the pleading, and the begging. Months ago, when you were a different woman, you may have turned tail and ran, may have been afraid of these sounds of anguish— but now, you approach the door without pause, heart and resolve made of steel.

The sliding of the blastdoor reveals to you quite the scene, one that could understandably turn the average person’s stomach. Three or four members of the Board of Charitable Affairs lie strewn across the floor, weeping and gasping for breath. Some of them are more conscious than others, blood leaking out of their mouths and noses as they try to fight for their lives. Guards are stationed all about the room, insurance policies against escape— not that these little worms could manage it anyway, for your husband stands before them, face contorted in a snarl as he inflicts pain from afar. You know he’s done good work, for Hux stands off to one side of the massacre with a pleased sneer painted across his features. Much has been revealed, you can tell, and you’re glad to see that the boys have been enjoying themselves.

What’s most delicious of all, however, is the sight of the Chairwoman laid out amongst her cronies. She looks the worst, lip split and one eye swollen shut as she writhes on the floor like a bug turned on its back.

Your arrival sends all activities screeching to a halt, the guards kneeling in respect as you glide closer to the carnage. Kylo’s eyes are wild as he regards you, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. The energy radiating off of him is almost overwhelming, though you manage to not let it affect you too adversely.

“Empress,” Hux says, nodding his head your way.

“Chancellor,” you reply, acknowledging his greeting with grace. You turn your gaze to your husband now, taking note of the blood spatter on his cheek. “My love.”

Kylo says nothing, sucking in quick, shallow breaths as sweat drips from the ends of his hair. He is an animal before you now, mind somewhere else entirely as the darkest part of him rears its ugly head. One glance down is all it takes for you to notice the bulge in Kylo’s pants, and you know at once at he’s painfully hard. Your cunt clenches at the thought, though something much more rational in the back of your mind reminds you that you should be afraid.

You aren’t.

“Have they told you anything?” you ask, speaking to the room at large as you go to inspect Kylo’s handywork. With the vice-like grip of the Force no longer shrouding them in pain, the traitors begin squirming feebly, trying to escape their tormenters in vain.

“Full confessions from all of them,” Hux affirms, evidently satisfied with this.

You nod at him, skirting around a small pool of blood as you continue to study your prisoners. “Good.”

It seems as if the sound of your voice sparks something within Evan, for she crawls to you on shaky limbs. You can’t believe she even knows it’s you, sure her mind’s turned to mush after the beating she’s received.

“Empress,” the Chairwoman warbles, “Empress, please. I beg your forgiveness. Spare me, Your Majesty, _please—_ ”

Bloody hands come up to grasp at the hem of your dress, but before you can so much as kick her away, Evan screams out as if someone’s twisting her insides. One look to your right reveals the source of her discomfort, for Kylo’s hand is outstretched, his fingers curling in towards his palm. Above your heads, the lights flicker and flash, sparks flying from one of the fixtures.

“Darling,” you say to Kylo, taking careful, measured steps towards him. He lets his hand drop, attention fully focused on you now. “Why don’t you go get in the shower, hm? I’ll join you in just a minute.”

“She touched you,” Kylo spits, speaking for the first time since you arrived.

You nod, pushing his hair back from his face. “I know that, my love, but I think she regrets it now. Go on, it’s alright.”

It looks as if Kylo’s going to argue again, but then he’s leaving, storming out of the room in a flurry of blinding, powerful energy. You feel Hux’ eyes on you as you walk back to Evan, crouching down so that you may look closer at her mangled face.

“Empress,” she whimpers, even more desperate now, “I’m so sorry. Please, please don’t have me killed. Tell the Supreme Leader to spare me, please—”

You hand flies out, fingers fisting in the Chairwoman’s matted mane. She screams again, weakly grasping at the width of your wrist as you speak. “You think he’s the one who ordered all of this?” you ask Evan, gesturing around the room with your free hand. Her light eyes shine with terror, mouth working as she tries to find her words.

“ _I_ am the one who ordered this interrogation,” you spit, jerking Evan around by her hair. “ _I_ am the one who figured you out. The Supreme Leader wanted to gut you like an animal the minute I told him. If it weren’t for me, you’d already be dead!”

Without ceremony, you throw the Chairwoman back, not even wincing as her head bashes against the floor. You stand now, looking down your nose at the pathetic person before you, and you feel _nothing._

“Have fun,” you say to Hux, already turning on your heel to leave. Your friend’s smirk broadens, his back posturing proudly.

“Yes, Empress.”

\---

Kylo is already in the shower by the time you make it back to your quarters, filthy clothes lying in a heap on the bedroom floor. Steam curls out of the ‘fresher, vapor clinging to your skin as you take in the sight of your husband behind the shower’s frosted glass. Even with the haze clouding your view, you can make out the long line of Kylo’s back, can tell that he’s got himself braced against the wall. His arm works in tight movements, one hand tucked between himself and the tiles— he’s touching himself.

Slowly, deliberately, you undress, sliding the garments covering your skin down off your body. You stalk across the floor as quietly as you can, bent on not disturbing Kylo as you step in the shower beside him.

“I told you I was coming,” you say to Kylo, drinking in the image of his hand working over the length of his cock. He looks almost guilty, though he makes no moves to stop.

Kylo stammers, eyes wide and desperate. “I— I just—”

“You couldn’t help yourself, my love, I know,” you say gently, coming to stand behind your husband. He goes to turn, to grab you, but you hold him in place with a firm hand on his back.

“No, darling,” you chide, stepping closer to press your body flush against his. “I want to talk, and you know I can’t do that with your cock in me.”

Kylo whimpers, obviously discontent at the idea of not being able to fuck you, but the sound morphs into a broken moan the second you get your hand around his dick.

“Is this good?” you ask, setting a steady pace. Kylo just nods, leaning against his folded arms as you jerk him off, the muscles in his back tensing and relaxing.

You begin your line of questioning gently, pressing kisses between Kylo’s shoulder blades as you speak. “You should have told me,” you say softly, knowing he can see and hear your complete thoughts.

Kylo lets out a ragged breath, trying to look at you over his shoulder. “I— It’s not— It’s not something I _need_ ,” he tells you, speaking of violence and how it arouses him so, “it’s just— It’s just…”

He’s losing focus, your grip on his cock probably too good now. You lax up a bit, slow down the pace and dig your nails into Kylo’s side. “Is it the screaming?”

Your husband jerks forward, affected by the pain. “No. Yes, I— It’s the blood,” he finally rasps. You reward him for his honesty, palm smoothing over the silky shaft of his cock again and again as you claw angry marks into his ribs.

“Oh, darling,” you murmur, relishing in the way Kylo moans for you. “My love, you should have _told me_.”

Through his haze of lust and pleasure, your husband still has enough about him to be sweet. “I couldn’t hurt you,” he declares, “not like that.”

You finally release his cock, blind with arousal as Kylo spins and practically slams you against the wall. He’s on you in a second, lifting your feet from the floor, lining up your bodies so he can fuck you senseless. All capacity for coherent speech goes right out the window the moment Kylo gets his dick inside you, though you do manage to say one last thing before you give in entirely: “Who said you would be hurting me?”

\---

The Chairwoman, her cronies, Mila’s fiancé, and a few other key figures are executed on live broadcast within thirty-six hours of their interrogation.

You’re present, of course, flanked by Hux, Kylo, and other important members of the Order as the prisoners are forced to kneel on the ground before you. Blood shall not touch you, though, for you and Kylo’s thrones sit high above the staging area, situated atop a dais that sets you apart from the others in the room.

You are the first to speak, the first to so much as move once the traitors are arranged to your liking. The crowd, already hushed, falls completely silent the moment you rise form your seat, watching your every movement intently. Your heels click on the polished floor, the sound so loud in the quiet of the room as you slowly, ever so slowly descend the steps before you.

“People of the Order,” you begin, taking long, deliberate steps across the floor, “I must admit that I am ashamed to be addressing you in such a fashion. I had hoped that my first official action as Empress would be something more lighthearted, something more joyous, but I am sorry to say that I must formally introduce myself with a bloodbath.”

You pause, looking out across the room, searching the faces in the crowd for disapproval. They are all stone-cold, however, not one person so much as flinching when you regard them. Hands clasped behind your back, you continue on.

“The people before you are traitors against the Order. They have stolen money from charity accounts,” you explain, mouth twisting into a cruel frown as you think of their treachery. “This act of theft is reason enough to snuff them out, but I must impress upon everyone watching what this really means. You see, when someone steals from a charitable cause, they are not only a thief, but a murder as well. Because of the cretins you see before you, children went to bed hungry for the night. The elderly were without proper clothing in the winter. An underprivileged person did not learn how to read and write. All of these happenings may seem inconsequential, but I promise you, brothers and sisters, that the greed of the few has caused suffering and death for the many.”

Once again, you hold your tongue, allowing the weight of your words to settle over the crowd.

“My husband and I _will. Not_. _Stand for it._ Since the death of the tyrant Snoke, your Supreme Leader has worked very hard to better every planet under the Order’s control. He has fed the starving, educated the illiterate, freed huddled masses from the shackles of men and women who would exploit them for their own selfish gain. For these traitors to set any of those efforts back is an act of _treason_.”

That last word comes flying out of your mouth like a shot of venom, your anger spiking. You have to draw in a breath to steady yourself, lest you lose sight of your point.

“So,” you begin coolly, “all of that leads me to the following: If you steal from the Order, you will be executed. If your greed harms your brothers and sisters, you will be executed. If you grab for power and prestige at the expense of the innocent, you _will. Be. Executed._ ”

For the final time, you let your speech lapse, the harshness of your last word ringing out across the room.

Your final statement comes out as a bark, acid dripping from your ever word. “Do I make myself _clear_?”

The room answers you en mass with a perfectly chorused, “Yes, Empress!” And then you’re striding back to your throne, settling beside Kylo as the executioners move into place by their victims.

\---

After an officers’ briefing and a meal, your husband keeps you in bed for hours. He oscillates between fucking you without mercy and virtual worship, muttering praises like prayers as he pins you into the bed. You cum more than you thought you ever could, so exhausted by the end of it all that you’re completely limp under Kylo’s body as he fills you with his seed. Your muscles ache once the high passes, the flesh of your body almost oversensitive from the friction, the kisses, and so much more.

You hate Kylo in that moment as you look up at him, as you take in the sight of his sweat-slick skin and ruffled hair. For you, passing out right here and now isn’t out of the question— however, Kylo seems just fine as he catches his breath, looking at your ruined form as if he has half a mind to go again in just a few minutes. It’s the executions that have made him so ravenous, for he said it himself that he could have had you right there on the floor of the throne room after you finished your speech.

Once again, even after all this time, you still find yourself unable to make out the meaning of your husband’s expression. He looks satiated and hungry, completely spent and newly energized all at the same time. Kylo reaches out to brush your hair back, fingers lingering on the side of your neck as he pulls his hands away. You think he might speak, might say something important, but then the moment passes as quickly as it came.

Though the mere notion of moving wracks you with emotional pain, Kylo coaxes you into the ‘fresher nonetheless, promising to let you soak in a warm bath if you’ll just rinse off first. The offer is alluring, though standing under the shower’s spray is just as physically taxing as you thought it would be. Kylo soothes the wound once the two of you are in the bath, however, working knots out of your thighs and calves with a strong hand. You relax in the warm water, legs sprawled out in front of you as you face your husband.

“Is your uncle going to survive the bloodbath, or will he die like the others?”

The question is accompanied by a quirked brow and glinting eyes, and, knowing Kylo, he’s probably hoping you’ll let him do the deed himself. But alas, you have no such plans for this member of your family.

“He hasn’t done anything wrong, so no,” you sight, sinking down further into the water. The image of a deck of cards flashes through your mind, and you feel led to make a concession. “Well, nothing that makes him an _enemy of the Order_. I can’t have his throat cut just because he has loose morals and a shitty grasp on how to gamble.”

Kylo’s eyes darken further, though the press of his lips is gentle on the side of your foot. “I didn’t ask if he _deserved_ to die,” he presses. “I’m more concerned with whether or not it would _please_ you to have your uncle snuffed out.”

You shift in the bathtub, sloshing water over the lip of the thing as you move to straddle the width of your husband’s thighs. His hands are on you in an instant, running up your sides, splaying over the plane of your back.

“What I want,” you declare, words mingling with Kylo’s breath as you lean down to kiss him, “is to watch my uncle and his rotten little sons roil in abject shame and embarrassment.”

Kylo’s tongue is in your mouth not one second later, his teeth nearly splitting your bottom lip.

“And Mila?” he asks, studying you with reverence now.

You smile slowly, slyly.

“I have other plans for her.”


	14. Chapter 14

Though it is your intention to deal with your family swiftly, your plans are pushed aside for a time.

In the wake of over twenty executions spanning across numerous planets and entire star systems, there’s much to be done. You spend days poring over work histories and background checks, working diligently to replace lost personnel. There are four positions that need filling on the Board of Charitable Affairs alone, though Hux is at your side to vet candidates. And then of course there’s spying to do, for several Valderan mineral companies are replacing key players in their operations. Canto Bight’s casino owners are kissing major ass, stolen funds need redistributing to various charities, several small insurrections must be crushed…

It’s like you blink and nearly a month’s gone by, days passing in a haze of paperwork, meetings, and formal appearances. You and Kylo are pulled here and there, always busy, always doing something, and the whole ordeal is more exhausting than you ever imagined it could be. Sleep becomes a luxury, and not for the first time do you find yourself marveling at the Chancellor’s ability to go without it. Still, the sacrifice is worth the reward, and you’re happy to see things straightening out amongst the Order’s possessions.

Finally, all is well, and you’re able to relax again. Handling your uncle and his children sits at the forefront of your mind, but you’re smart enough to know that you need rest before launching into yet another confrontation. Still, even after several days of decent sleep, you’re dragging your feet at midday, drowsiness clouding your mind and dulling your senses. More than once do you find the notion of taking a nap irresistible, and you sleep the sleep of the dead each time you lie down.

Miriam notices the change in your behavior immediately, though she says nothing as she helps you fix your hair and set your clothes straight each afternoon. Kylo is more vocal with his concerns, more insistent that you seek medical attention. He corners you one afternoon in your shared quarters, catching you just as you’ve awoken from another one of your naps.

“I fear someone or something has made you ill,” your husband presses, pushing back against your flippant view of the matter. You turn away from your vanity, amused as you take in your husband’s furrowed brow and tense posture.

“Kylo,” you say, voice dripping honey, “I’m just a little tired. I’m not dying.”

Your husband rushes to your side, taking your face in his hands as he becomes more desperate than you’ve ever seen him before. “My love, I am _begging_ you—”

“And I,” you cut gently, turning to kiss the inside of his wrist, “am begging _you_ to not worry about this.”

Kylo’s exasperation heightens, though you don’t let him go on.

“I’m _fine_ , darling” you insist, fussing with the cuff of your husband’s sleeve. “I’ve never been better.”

\---

Returning to the palace is almost surreal, everything just as you left it all those months ago. You hadn’t expected anything to change, not really, but the sameness of it all still makes your chest clench in the strangest way. Every rug, every tapestry, every artifact and decoration… each one reminds you of a time that was not long ago, though you can hardly recognize that version of yourself now.

Two Knights of Ren flank you on either side as you glide into the receiving room you know all too well, your only protection on your home planet. Kylo was insistent for a while there, demanded that you be attended by stormtroopers and Reds and a number of other personnel, but you managed to talk him out of it. Ap’lek and Vicrul are more valuable than fifty imperial guards put together, and besides, you are adored here— the chance of you being harmed is slim to none.

Your uncle’s throne still sits on its dais in the center of the room, this fixture too unchanged. You approach it cautiously, mildly afraid to be caught near the thing on principle. It was the cardinal rule of your childhood— do not sit on Uncle’s throne, not under any circumstances. How many tongue lashings had you received for climbing up here as a child? Ten? Twenty? You can’t be sure after all these years.

What you do know, however, is that your uncle’s throne is even _more_ comfortable now than it was in your childhood.

As if on cue, the patriarch of your remaining family comes striding into the room, mid-conversation with one of his attendants. His entire body shudders when he lays eyes on you, no doubt surprised to see you, or anyone else, for that matter, in this room. Arriving unannounced was a key element in your plan, and, if your uncle’s wide-eyed, horrified gaze is anything to go by, it’s already having the desired effect.

You let your uncle splutter stupidly on the floor for a moment, let him go through aborted versions of your name, your old title, and your new one before he finally blurts, “What are you doing here?”

It’s by no means a respectful way to address his Empress, but you’re too pleased with the way he cringes at his own words to care.

Setting your expression carefully, you gesture about the room with one lofty hand. “I’m here for a visit, Uncle. I wanted to check on the state of things here.” Your voice drops, becomes less pleasant. “The state of our people.”

Your uncle looks as if he’s going to vomit. This pleases you.

Mila is the first to come before you, startled like her father was upon seeing your face. She has the decency to kneel though, to show you respect as she waits for her brothers to arrive. And they do after several minutes, the both of them looking ruffled and perturbed as they shuffle into the room.

“You do not kneel before you Empress?” Ap’lek snaps, incensed by the way Sebastian and Tensin make no move to join their father and sister on the floor.

Sebastian, the smart-mouthed little shit that he is, opens his mouth at once, no doubt about to spit something acidic and defiant in Ap’lek’s face. But your uncle stops his son before he can do something stupid, yanking the eldest boy down onto his knees.

“Shut up and kneel down,” the King hisses. “ _Both of you_.”

Sebastian and Tensin need no further prompting after that, though they obviously aren’t happy about being forced to show fealty to you. Mila, however, looks almost afraid, refusing to meet your eyes even as she says, “To what do we owe this honor, Empress?”

You like this change in your cousin’s demeanor, like the way she addresses you with humility and respect. So, you answer her question calmly, though you can feel rage coming to a boil in your chest.

“I am here, Princess, to tell your father that I know what he’s been doing with his people’s money.”

At this, your uncle pales, shifting uncomfortably on his knees. He, too, now will not look you in the eye, an indirect but still very overt admission of his guilt. You can’t believe him, so shameless and yet so cowardly at the same time.

Your uncle drops his head, voice subdued as he speaks. “Empress, I think you’ve misunderstood—”

Something in your snaps then, for how dare he treat your like you’re stupid, like you haven’t been paying attention?

“Oh no, Uncle, it is _you_ who has misunderstood,” you snap, rising from his throne. Venom drips from your every word, Ap’lek and Vicrul your dark, dangerous shadows as you stalk closer and closer to your family. “You _misunderstand_ the purpose of your tax dollars; you _misunderstand_ the needs of your people. They suffer under the financial burden you’ve placed upon them while you snort spice and fuck whores.”

“Do _not_ speak to my father like that!” Sebastian shouts, jumping to his feet in front of you. His eyes are wild, but you are equally as enraged, getting in his face, daring him to so much as touch you.

“Harm me or my child and it will be the last thing you do, you _insolent little fuck_.”

All eyes land on you, the members of your family stunned into silence by the implications of what you’ve just said. Mila is the only one brave enough to speak, eyeing you from the floor with a look of utter shock slapped across her face. “You’re pregnant?”

Remembering yourself, you take a breath and set your hands on the almost imperceptible swell of your stomach. “Yes, I am pregnant,” you affirm, speaking softly as you think of all your days spent in bed and the way Kylo cried when you told him what you knew. It was the one reason he was so insistent that you come here armed to the teeth.

Your family looks upon you as if you’re a live explosive then, falling all over themselves to widen the distance between all of you. You crowd right back in, however, undeterred and unafraid. “All of you must understand, then, why I came to do this before my condition progresses any farther.”

Tensin decides to be bold. “And what would _this_ be?”

Cutting your eyes away from him, you look squarely at the King. “I’ve come to take your father’s crown.”

The noise that comes out of Sebastian is indignant and angry. Mila gasps, eyes wide and terrified. Tensin turns white as a sheet. And your uncle? All he does is stare up at your stupidly, mouth opening and closing on what appears to be its own accord for several seconds.

“You can’t— You can’t do that,” he stammers, looking from you, to his throne, and back again. “You can’t— Who will rule in my place? You?”

“I have the galaxy, Uncle,” you state, voice even and calm. “I don’t need this planet.”

The King looks at his eldest son and then back at you, a silent question swimming behind his eyes. You refuse to answer it, simply holding out your hand and eyeing the crown that glitters before you.

“Take that ridiculous thing off your head.”

Your uncle hesitates for a moment, a look of utter heartbreak coming across his face as he finally reaches up and out, handing you his crown as instructed. You hold the thing in your hands for a moment, studying the craftsmanship, the fine jewels that glint so beautifully in the light…

And then you throw it at Mila’s feet.

The clang of metal against marble bounces off the walls of the room again and again, the sound almost painfully loud in your ears until Mila’s able to get her hands on her father’s crown— or, rather, _her_ crown. You see tears in her eyes as she studies it, looking at the gold and gilding as if she can’t believe it’s real.

Your uncle is clearly bewildered, shaking his head as he asks, “Why?”

“Because she’s smarter and more capable than both of your sons put together.” You lean down, really get in his face so that he can feel your anger properly. “And to think that you were going to sell her to the highest bidder.”

These words suck all other protests from your uncle’s mouth, and you can see now that this is over.

“You and the Princes will leave this palace immediately,” you declare. “You are not allowed to return for a year.”

Tensin looks distressed. “This is our home!”

You eye him coolly. “Not anymore. I can’t have you poisoning Mila’s reign with your childish partying and idiotic ideas. Now leave me and your Queen alone, all of you.”

Your uncle and his sons stumble out of the room, dazed and humiliated. Mila finally rises to her feet once they’re gone still weakly clutching her crown in one hand. Tears stream down her face. She looks like she’s been punched in the gut.

“Don’t waste it,” you say simply, tossing your head towards the throne in the center of the room. “I can take it from you just as easily as I took it from him.”

“I won’t,” Mila whispers. You believe her.

“Goodbye, Your Majesty.”

And then you’re walking out of the room, your guards trailing behind you without a word.

Mila calls out after a moment, calls you by your title and then by your real name.

You turn to her. “Yes?”

“I—” Your cousin is distraught, eyes darting as she pants for breath. “I’ve been do awful to you. I treated you like dirt, I— You could have let Father sell me to that old man, and I would have been miserable. Why would you give me this instead?”

You stare her down for a moment, considering what to say. “I’m not like you, Mila. I’m not cruel.”

Mila shudders like she’s been slapped, and you turn to leave the room.

\---

Ap’lek and Vicrul fly you out into the countryside after the lot of you make your exit from the palace, cruising at a comfortable speed as you take in the rush of scenery bellow you. This part of your planet feels as though it belongs somewhere else entirely, underdeveloped and free from the crowding of urban sprawl.

Your mother’s house, like the palace you just came from, is exactly as you remember it. The landscaping, the front steps, the courtyards— there’s not a blade of grass out of place, and the joy you feel because of this makes you want to weep.

Stepping inside is like stepping back inside, for you haven’t been to this place since you were a girl. Servants and small droids bustle about, putting on the finishing touches for your arrival. You’d asked to have the place opened up a couple of weeks ago, wanted to spend some time here after you finished dethroning your uncle. But now that you know you’re pregnant, you have other plans for this home.

Shooing Ap’lek and Vicrul away, you go exploring, halfway surprised that you still remember your way around. But no, you haven’t forgotten the layout of this house you love so much, these halls and rooms you played in as a baby.

You peek in your old bedroom, delighted to see that no one’s changed the colors on the walls. The same furniture that looked so big in your eyes then only looks average now— small, even. Your little window even faces the same flowers, the same fields, the same sunshine. At once, you decide that your child will know all these things too, just as you did.

Crossing the threshold in your mother’s room feels almost like stepping into a tomb, though the sensation is not one of dread or gloom like you thought it would be. Her bed and furniture are, like everything else in this house, just as they were when she was alive, though the vanity looks strange without her things strewn across it. You can remember your mother sitting there before the mirror, a tube of lipstick in her hand, a bottle of perfume close by. All little children think that their mothers are beautiful, and you were no different back then. Now, though, you realize that your mother really _was_ a gorgeous woman, buxom and bright and so, so pretty. She would have you help her sometimes before she left for a party, would let you pick out her earrings or ask you which scent you liked better that night. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you reach up and unclip your own jewelry, laying the pieces out carefully on the vanity as your first action as this house’s new mistress.

The covers on the bed aren’t the ones your mother slept under, but you still feel like you’re crawling in bed beside her as you lie down. A length of time passes in silence after that, how much you can’t be sure, but you’re brought back to reality when you hear heavy boots in the hallway. Kylo appears in the doorway not one second later, quiet as he pauses to study you for a moment. And then he’s sitting on the edge of the bed and unlacing his boots, he’s lying down beside you. The two of your clasp hands, tangling your feet together like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“How did it go?” Kylo asks, though you’re sure he already knows.

“Mila will be coronated this afternoon.”

Kylo nods, unfazed. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” you say softly, reaching out to stroke his cheek. Kylo turns to kiss your palm, gentle in the same way he’s been gentle since he found out about the baby.

“This is a very beautiful house,” Kylo declares, leaving the topic of your uncle and his children behind. “Why are we here?”

“This is where I grew up,” you explain, fingers in his hair now. “I was born in this room.”

Kylo almost-smiles. “What a lovely place for a child. I see why your mother chose it for you.”

It’s your turn to nod. “I know. I… I want to be pregnant here. I want to give birth here, like my mother did. The baby needs to feel the sun on his face, needs to breathe real air when he takes his first breath.”

Kylo pulls you closer, kisses the top of your head. “I’ve always thought space was too cold for an infant.”

And just like that, the matter’s settled.

Everything’s settled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's the end! thank ya'll for sticking with me for this long, and please tell me what you think!!  
> \- m

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is also on tumblr!  
> sithsecrets.tumblr.com


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